


Fic Advent 2013

by riots



Series: Fic Advent [2]
Category: B.A.P, BTOB, Block B, EXO (Band), Infinite (Band), M.I.B (Band), Secret (Band)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 42,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted drabbles written through December. Each chapter is labelled with fandom and pairing or focus!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret, Hana/Hyosung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "high school au. hyosung is a cheerleader and hana is the awkward new kid (just write me some girl on girl smut hehe)"

There are many things that Hana wanted out of her last year of high school, but it definitely wasn’t a fresh start in a brand new school, far away from all her friends. At least some things haven’t changed: her uniform jacket is only a slightly different shade of gray from the last one, the math classes are just as easy as they’ve always been, and the lunch room is just as intimidating as she’d known it would be.

These are the politics that Hana has never been particularly good at. She knows that where she sits is important, that much is a given. The thing is, it’s been a couple of weeks and, well, she still hasn’t really figured out where she fits. It’s the last year of high school, and everyone already has their friends. They’re too busy worrying about studying and everything else, and there’s not a lot of room for her. That’s okay, really. Hana folds her skirt under her thighs and slides into a seat at an empty table. She’s never been very good at approaching people, and it’s only one year. She’ll be okay.

She’s leaning in to take a bite when someone drops into the seat across from her. “Hi!” the girl says brightly and Hana stalls, chopsticks halfway to her lips, mouth open. It takes her a second to recover and she flushes a little, blinking. The girl sitting across from her seems completely unaware, combing one hand through her long dark hair and flashing a bright smile at her. “You’re Jung Hana, right? The transfer from Uijeongbu? Welcome to our school! I’m Jun Hyosung.”

Hana knows who she is. Jun Hyosung is well known in these halls, loud and bubbly and bright. “Nice to meet you,” Hana offers politely. She’s not really sure why Hyosung is here, right now, with that friendly smile. Shouldn’t she be holding court over her own table?

“I should’ve introduced myself earlier,” Hyosung continues. She’s blithely settling in to eat, right here, across from Hana, and Hana doesn’t quite know what to do with it. She _does_ know that it’s rude to stare, though, so she turns her attention to her own food instead. “The beginning of the year is just so hectic, you know?”

“Oh, of course,” Hana agrees. She taps her chopsticks against her bowl and frowns a little at herself. If she’s going to make friends, she’s going to have to do better than _this_ with conversation. She looks up, but before she can add a word, she’s startled by the rattle of trays hitting the table next to them.

“Aish, that Kim Himchan,” one of the newcomers sighs dramatically. She has her long, blonde hair pulled up out of her face, and she jostles her tray, grumpy, as she seats herself next to Hana. Hana knows her too - Han Sunhwa, top of their grade. “Did you know that he wants me to make a bet with him? If he does better on our next English test, I have to go on a _date_ with him. Insufferable.”

The other girl laughs and shakes her head. “Sounds a lot like you’ve already agreed to it,” she points out, nudging Hyosung with an elbow. Hana takes another mouthful, watching the three of them. She knows they’re friends, it’s obvious by how easy it is between them, but she can’t quite figure out where she fits in all this.

“Well,” Sunhwa scoffs, and her grin turns wicked. “Why not? He may have me beat in Japanese but his English is atrocious.” She shrugs and bats her eyelashes. “And when I win, he owes me.” She tips her head, smiling innocently down at her food. “He owes me a _lot_.”

Hyosung throws her head back and laughs, and Hana is astonished by it. Hyosung doesn’t hold back, she slaps her palm on the table and her laughter sounds loud even in the noise of the lunchroom. Her smile is just a little bit too gummy to be perfect, but there’s something about it that makes Hana’s stomach flip flop. Oh no. “You’re terrible,” Hyosung says, but there’s no heat to it. She turns to Hana. “Jung Hana, this is Han Sunhwa, and she’s milking Kim Himchan for everything she can get.”

Sunhwa sniffs. “It’s his own fault,” she tells Hana. She doesn’t look the slightest bit guilty. “He seems to think his persistence after a ‘no’ is romantic.”

“I’m Song Jieun,” the other girl says with a quick bob of her head. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“I hope you like it here,” Sunhwa says, patting Hana’s hand. “It’s a great school. As long as you’re not looking for a boyfriend, of course.” Hana flushes and nods, covering her smile with her fingers. Now that is one thing she’s definitely not worrying about.

Jieun scrunches up her nose, furtively glancing at a table a few feet away. “I don’t know about _that_ ,” she argues. Her eyes fall on a second year boy, one with a long neck and a tragic haircut, and the two of them turn matching shades of red and look away. Sunhwa and Hyosung let out matching ‘ooooohs’, Hyosung grabbing Jieun’s arm and shaking her a little. Hana laughs quietly, watching them. It’s strange, being invited to this friendly intimacy, and Hana isn’t sure she really deserves it, but it’s not unwelcome.

The conversation turns to after school plans, with Jieun begging off hanging out because of studying. “What about you, Hana?” Sunhwa asks. “Noraebang? It’ll be fun!” She wiggles her eyebrows and nudges Hana gently. Hyosung is watching her expectantly, gaze steady enough that it makes Hana feel a little bit off balance.

“Ah, I’m not much of a singer,” she demurs, holding up a hand. It’s probably not the smartest idea, turning down an offer to hang out with the first people who have been friendly to her since she transferred, but she’s also a little bit terrified by the thought of having to sing in front of them. She’d just make a fool of herself.

Hyosung pouts, and Hana resolutely ignores the flutter in her chest. “What did you even do for fun at your old school?” Hyosung asks. “Don’t tell me you only studied.”

“I played baseball,” Hana says, and Hyosung’s eyes widen before she leans in. “I mean, not on a team or anything, but it was fun.”

“Sounds sweaty,” Sunhwa says, a bit skeptical.

Hyosung bites her lip thoughtfully. “Baseball?” she asks. “Were you any good?” It’s surprising, the shift in her expression, from friendliness to actual interest, and the weight of her gaze makes Hana squirm in her seat.

“Yeah,” Hana says. She pushes her chin out and she smiles. “Yeah, I’m really good.” She flexes her arm for good measure and Jieun snorts. For a second, Hana wonders if maybe she’s taken it too far, but Jieun’s laughter is good-natured and more importantly, Hyosung hasn’t looked away from her, not once.

“Baseball,” Hyosung says, and she tips her head. “You _are_ interesting.”

Hana flushes. She’s saved from having to think up a reply by a flurry of activity in the lunch room as everyone gets up and gets ready to head to their next class.

“You have history next with me, don’t you?” Jieun asks, gathering her things. She skirts around the table and smiles down at Hana. “Shall we go together?”

It takes Hana a second to reply. It seems that in the space of one lunch, she’s managed to not only make friends with some of the most popular girls in school, but somehow find a spot in their group. She’s got no idea how that happened, but she doesn’t think she minds at all. “Sure,” she says hesitantly, and when she stands, Jieun hooks their arms together.

As they leave the lunch room, Hana glances back over her shoulder, just once. Hyosung, watching them go, raises a hand and wiggles her fingers in goodbye. The way that she’s smiling...Hana knows she shouldn’t read anything into it, but somehow, there’s a tiny little spark of hope burning in her chest.

 

 

-

 

 

When Hana tucks her last textbook into her bag and closes her locker, she nearly jumps at the sight of Hyosung, waiting for her. “Hi,” Hyosung says cheerfully.

“You’re really good at that,” Hana says, and Hyosung pays her no mind.

Instead, she falls into step with Hana as she makes her way to the door. “You know what’s funny?” Hyosung asks. She bumps her hip into Hana’s and she grins. “Word is that you live just a few streets away from me. Neat, huh?”

There’s something very deliberate about what Hyosung is doing, but Hana isn’t quite sure she knows what it is. “People talk a lot here,” Hana replies. She’s doing her best not to be too pleased that Hyosung has been asking around.

“You know how it is,” Hyosung says. “I know a lot of people, they hear things.” Her arm brushes up against Hana’s with every step, and each time her fingertips slide against the back of Hana’s hand, shivers shoot up her spine. “You know, I really wasn’t expecting the baseball thing.” Hana glances over and Hyosung has her eyebrows raised. “You’re more than just a pretty face.”

Hana colours. There’s no mistaking this, the way that Hyosung curls a hand around her elbow and leans in, eyes heated. Hana has been at this school for a couple of weeks, and this, this is something that never factored into her plans before graduation. “Oh, um, thank you.”

“My last boyfriend was a baseball player,” Hyosung says. “Sometimes we played, you know, on occasion.” Her expression leaves no room for misinterpretation, and although the conversation is completely innocent, Hana feels heat creeping up her throat to her cheeks. “Would you play with me?”

Her mother is expecting her home. Math may come easily to Hana, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have to work hard at the other subjects. She _should_ go home and study. “Yes,” Hana says breathlessly.

Hyosung’s hand on her arm tightens. “Oh _good_ ,” she sighs. “My parents aren’t home for another couple of hours.” She gestures at a building just up the block. “Won’t you come in?”

Hana’s only ever fooled around with a couple of people, and one of them was a boy, and a terrible kisser, so he totally doesn’t count. Hyosung is no amateur. She takes her time kissing Hana, one hand pushed into her hair as she slots their mouths together, licking lazily at the back of her teeth. They’re pressed together so closely on Hyosung’s bed that Hana can feel the push of Hyosung’s breasts against hers and wow, this is totally, definitely happening.

Her breath stutters and Hyosung pulls away for a second. She’s flushed, her thick, glossy hair loose around her face, and Hana gulps at the sight of her lips, full and slick. “Are you okay?” Hyosung asks.

A small part of Hana points out that she’s only just met Hyosung, that maybe this is a little fast. Another, much larger part points out that Hyosung has a really nice body, all lush curves. Hyosung’s skirt has ridden up while they were kissing, and Hana can almost see her panties. She feels a bit lightheaded. “I really, really am,” Hana says, and Hyosung laughs with delight, pushing her down on the bed.

Hana could really get used to kissing Hyosung. There’s something very, very intimate about it, the way that Hyosung settles between her thighs, kissing just as thoroughly as she had before while one hand wanders lower. She pulls at the hem of Hana’s shirt and Hana’s breath catches in her throat. Hyosung knows just what she’s doing, fingers skating up across Hana’s belly, making the muscles jump and shift beneath her hand. Her fingers bump up against Hana’s bra and Hyosung pulls away. “Let’s get comfy,” she says cheerfully, pulling at the buttons of Hana’s school shirt, and Hana laughs.

Hyosung settles back on her heels, working on her own shirt, and it means that Hana gets the perfect view as Hyosung slides it off her shoulders. Uniforms aren’t exactly designed to be flattering and Hana swallows. “Oh, wow,” she says without thinking, and Hyosung just grins. Hana was right - she is amazing. She can’t help the way that her eyes catch on the curve of Hyosung’s breasts, but Hyosung doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“Give me a hand?” she asks, and Hana bites her lip, sitting up to slide her hands up Hyosung’s ribs and around to unhook her bra. “That’s better,” Hyosung tells her, tossing her bra onto the floor. For a moment, Hana thinks about the fact that the first time she’d even spoken to Hyosung was at lunch today, and now here she is, cupping Hyosung’s breasts in her hands and bending to tentatively run her tongue across her nipple.

Hyosung arches, gasping a little as her eyes fall shut. Hana isn’t very sure of what she’s doing, but Hyosung’s so sensitive, and her reactions speak volumes. She squeaks when Hana fixes her mouth over her nipple and sucks, grips Hana’s shoulders and squirms, and Hana feels flushed, too warm. She likes the weight of Hyosung’s breasts and the way she pushes against her, but she wants _more_.

She glances up and Hyosung meets her gaze, eyes hazy and her lips red. She smiles at Hana hungrily, and Hana’s heart lurches in her chest. When Hyosung kisses her, Hana melts into it. She could get used to this. Hyosung’s mouth is hot and slick and when she pulls away, Hana can’t help but lean in, chasing her lips. “I like you,” Hyosung says decisively, and she drops her hands to Hana’s shoulders and pushes until she drops back on the bed again.

“Thanks?” Hana says, and Hyosung laughs. There’s nothing mean-spirited about it, but Hana still feels a little off balance, a little out of her element, and she wants to put them on a little more even ground. She reaches down and hikes Hyosung’s skirt around her hips, her other hand pressing up against Hyosung’s panties. Her thighs, tucked between Hana’s, are plush and pale and her underwear are bright blue, with a little pink bow. Hana notes distantly that they match the bra Hyosung had been wearing, but she’s more interested in the dampness beneath her fingertips and the way that Hyosung plants her elbows on either side of Hana and grinds down with determination. Hyosung sucks in a breath and drags her mouth away from Hana’s to press against her shoulder, her breath warm. She’s basically rubbing off against Hana’s hand and Hana has never felt so hot in her life.

“C’mon,” Hyosung says against her skin. Her voice is low and unsteady enough that Hana shivers. “Is that the best you can do?” Hyosung pulls away. Her smile is sharp, challenging and Hana is kind of jealous of Hyosung’s ability to multitask. Even as she works her fingers against Hyosung’s panties, Hyosung squirms a hand down between them, tugging at the waistband of Hana’s. Hana inhales sharply, a little bit terrified but every inch turned on.

“No,” Hana says, although she’s never really gone much further than this and she’s kind of flying blind. “Please.” She stretches up to kiss Hyosung against, her heart hammering in her chest as Hyosung drags her underwear off. Her skirt is still flattened between them, but that semblance of security vanishes when Hyosung reaches under it and slides her thumb across her clit. “Oh my God.”

Hyosung laughs in delight, and it’s only her spot between Hana’s thighs that prevents her from snapping them shut. “You’re so wet,” she croons, and Hana gasps. She knows how to get herself off but the fact that it’s Hyosung’s fingertips working against her clit, Hyosung’s mouth on her throat...Hana thinks she might combust. This is _so_ much better than with a guy. “It’s hot.”

“Hyosung,” Hana whines, and that’s so embarrassing, but Hyosung just looks pleased. It’s so hard to focus when it feels like her whole world has shrunk to Hyosung’s hand on her. Heat pools below her belly button and she gasps.

Shifting her weight onto one arm, Hyosung grinds down against Hana’s hand again. _Right_ , Hana thinks. It takes a bit of maneuvering but she manages to tug Hyosung’s underwear down her thighs (her lush, lush thighs) and she finally, finally touches her. “Yes,” Hyosung sighs, tracing wet kisses up Hana’s throat as Hana tentatively rubs circles against her clit. It’s not rocket science, really, Hana knows what makes herself feel good, and Hyosung is so responsive. “Just like that.”

Her wrist is starting to ache from the awkward angle, but Hyosung keeps making these soft groans that make Hana tense and sigh and she’s embarrassingly close to coming already. It’s easy to forget her discomfort, though, when Hyosung kisses blindly at the corner of her mouth and slides a finger in without warning. Hana makes a bitten off noise, arching up mindlessly as Hyosung fucks her leisurely. She didn’t know it could feel this good, and her free hand comes up to land on Hyosung’s waist, her knees squeezing Hyosung’s hips. It’s taking all of her concentration to keep up the slide of her fingers against Hyosung’s clit, but Hyosung helps, rolling her hips down again and again.

“Come on,” Hyosung says against Hana’s mouth, pushing another finger into her pussy and this time, Hana is _certain_ she can feel her smiling. “I know you’re right there, I can feel it.” She’s not wrong. Hana is flushed and sweaty and dazed with the rhythm of Hyosung’s fingers thrusting into her and she knows she won’t last much longer.

“I can’t - ” Hana gasps, and Hyosung laughs, crooking her fingers at the same time that she brings the heel of her hand down to push against Hana’s clit. That’s it, that’s all it takes for Hana to come, the pleasure washing over her in overwhelming waves. Hyosung fucks her through it and Hana has to bury her face in Hyosung’s throat as she rides it out. She doesn’t think she’s ever come that hard in her _life_.

It takes her a few seconds to recover, and when she does, Hyosung’s got her lips pressed together. It’s obvious that she’s trying not to be pushy, but she wants to get off just as badly as she did before. Hana pushes her sweat damp hair out of her face and then sits up. Time to return the favour.

Hyosung goes easily enough when Hana guides her onto her back, and she looks up expectantly when Hana settles herself on her thighs. Hana’s got a pretty good idea of what Hyosung likes by now. She’s got this. She watches as Hyosung looks her over, eyes half-lidded with heat as she takes in Hana’s disarray. Hana grins. There’s something about the way that Hyosung looks at her that makes her feel light-headed. She decides to fight this by bending over Hyosung. She bypasses her mouth and instead, cups her breasts in her palms and noses at her nipple before taking it in her mouth.

Now that Hana’s come, it’s easier to notice all the little noises that Hyosung makes, the way she grips at Hana’s thighs and squeaks at the scrape of Hana’s teeth. She’s so sensitive, squirming the instant that Hana reaches down to her clit again. Hyosung moans encouragingly, her thighs shifting under Hana’s weight, and that’s when Hana finds her courage to push Hyosung’s skirt up again and slide a finger into her cunt. “Yes,” Hyosung says, her tongue darting out to wet her lips and Hana sets an easy pace. She uses her other hand to stroke slowly across Hyosung’s clit, and she knows it’s too slow, but she likes the way Hyosung shakes and pleads under her breath, rolling her hips up to meet Hana’s hands.

That must show on her face, because Hyosung grabs her wrist and pulls her down firmly. “You’re _mean_ ,” she says breathlessly.

“I can be nice,” Hana tells her, pulling her hand out of Hyosung’s grip and pushing another finger into her. She can feel Hyosung clench around her and _oh_. That’s so hot.

“Just like that,” Hyosung says, and Hana complies, holding her down with one hand and fucking her steadily with the other. It’s a bit dizzying, having a girl like Hyosung falling apart under her hands, and though Hana might be a bit out of her depth, she’s never been afraid to take a risk. As Hyosung’s breath gets shorter, Hana slides down her thighs and bends to press her tongue flat against Hyosung’s clit. Hyosung shouts, tensing around Hana’s fingers as she comes. Hana doesn’t slow down with her hand until Hyosung is limp beneath her, smiling faintly and reaching for her.

It should be awkward afterwards, but it’s not. Hyosung tugs on the collar of Hana’s shirt and pulls her up until they’re lying tangled together. “Wow,” she laughs, brushing her nose across Hana’s cheek and then closing the distance between them and kissing her soundly. She must taste herself on Hana’s lips, but she has no qualms about licking her way into Hana’s mouth and it makes Hana just a bit faint.

“I never got a welcome like that at my old school,” Hana says, and Hyosung throws her head back and laughs. It’s just as loud and just as beautiful and maybe, Hana thinks, this year won’t be so bad after all.


	2. EXO, Kai/Chanyeol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "CHANYEOL AND PUPPIES. look, i just really really really have a thing with fucking chanyeol and fucking jongin and fucking puppies. not like. actually. fucking. but you know. chanyeol and jongin and puppies."

Jongin likes his job. He likes it a whole lot. Sure, he spends a good portion of his time cleaning up dog poop and one time he got a parakeet caught in his hair (and that had been kind of a harrowing experience), but in the end, it’s all pretty worth it. He gets to play with _puppies_. That’s his _job_. How cool is that? “Cool, right?” Jongin says softly, and the puppy in his hands licks his nose. He grins. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

He’s grooming one of a pair of poodles they just got in when Joonmyun sticks his head in the door. “Jongin-ah, I’m stuck on cash. Can you go look after the floor?”

Oh. People. Jongin frowns a little as he tucks the dog back into his pen, but he straightens easily enough. “Sure, hyung,” he says, and Joonmyun beams at him and then makes a quick exit. Well, Jongin thinks, better get his apron.

He’s not surprised when he comes out and finds that there’s only a few customers in the store and the person tying Joonmyun up on the cash is the same kid who’s come in every Friday for the last week. Each time, he ends up with his tall frame bent over the counter, chin propped up in one hand while he listens to Joonmyun answer whatever weird question he’s had this time about cats. Jongin isn’t really good with reading people but he thinks that the way that Zitao bats his eyelashes, bites his lip, and says ‘ _hyung_ ’ so sweetly is probably a pretty good indication of what he’s really here for. He covers his grin with a hand as Zitao asks about suggestions for cat toys and Joonmyun smiles up at him, accommodating as always.

Jongin busies himself with cleaning the fish tanks. There doesn’t tend to be a lot of customer service to do, not during the day. In the afternoons and evenings, that’s when they get the students who want to hold puppies, or parents with their kids. There’s only one other customer in the store, a tall young man in a really obnoxious hoodie crouched down by the kittens. As Jongin wipes down the goldfish tank, he watches the guy poke a finger through the bars of the cage. He’s gotta be somewhere around Jongin’s age, but the way that his eyes light up when one of the kittens deigns to rub up against his fingertips makes him look a lot younger. 

The kittens have just eaten and they’re sleepy, unwilling to to put up with being pestered by this customer, and while he wiggles his fingers in vain, they're not playing his game. They settle in for their mid-afternoon nap, far away from the side of the cage and the guy’s shoulders droop a little as he settles back on his heels, watching them sleep. Jongin doesn’t really make a habit of going out of his way to let a customer maul his animals, but this guy just looks so, well, forlorn. He hesitates, fumbling with the cleaning cloth before he shoves it into his pocket and approaches him. “Um, I can take one out for you,” he says, “I mean, if you want.” 

The guy startles, sprawling backwards, and he blinks up at Jongin. “No, it’s fine,” he says after a second. Jongin wavers, wondering if he should offer to help him up and he almost sticks out a hand, but the guy sneezes explosively. “I’m allergic,” he explains.

The guy is still smiling, but he glances back at the kittens, and despite himself, Jongin feels sorry for him. “How about dogs?” he asks. “Like, are you gonna sneeze all over a puppy?”

“No,” the guy says, pushing himself to his feet. The false smile has faded, replaced by faint offense and a bit of confusion. “I’m only allergic to cats.”

Joonmyun is still busy at the counter when Jongin glances at him. Technically, they’re only supposed to bring out animals for customers who are actually looking to buy, but that’s a rule that Joonmyun bends all the time, especially for cute kids. Jongin figures he’s totally allowed to break it, just this once. “Don’t move. Just stay right there.”

“What?” the guy calls after him, but Jongin’s already disappeared into the backroom. He’s not sure why he’s compelled to do this, he doesn’t even _know_ this guy, but he just looked so small when the kittens didn’t play that Jongin can’t help but want to cheer him up. And he knows just who can help.

Jjanggu is a sweet puppy, eight months old and friendly as anything. When Jongin emerges again from the backroom, the guy is still standing there, waiting. His eyes widen when he sees them come out, and he looks at Jongin like he doesn't know what to do with his gesture. Jongin helps him out by holding out the puppy. “Here,” Jongin says. Jjanggu wriggles in his hands but he quiets when the man takes him, nosing curiously at his hands. “Meet Jjanggu.”

“Hi, Jjanggu,” the guy says softly. After what Jongin had seen of this guy, the whole falling on his ass thing, Jongin wouldn’t have predicted he could be delicate. But he is with Jjanggu, stroking the top of his head with long fingers. “I’m Chanyeol. Nice to meet you.” Jjanggu responds by licking his chin and Jongin can’t help but grin at the way that Chanyeol’s smile stretches across his entire face. It's kinda weird, a bit too wide and a little bit crooked, but it’s a far cry better than the mopey look that had been there before.

“He likes you,” Jongin says. “I can tell.” Jjanggu settles into Chanyeol’s arms and licks at the corner of his mouth, and Jongin has to suppress the urge to laugh at the way that Chanyeol’s face scrunches up. Jjanggu likes pretty much everyone, and that seems to be just what Chanyeol needed right now.

Jongin drags his toe across his linoleum while Chanyeol presses his face into Jjanggu’s brown fur. “He’s cute,” Chanyeol says, voice muffled. He straightens when he notices Jongin’s eyes on him and he clears his throat, ducking his head. “Sorry,” he says. “It was, ah, a tough morning. I thought maybe seeing some cute animals would help.” He does look a bit worn out. He's got dark circles under his eyes, his skin looks rough, and what little Jongin can see of Chanyeol's hair, poking out from under his hat, is all over the place. But he also looks a little more relaxed with Jjanggu in his arms, and that's good, that's great.

Jjanggu isn’t the only cute one here, Jongin thinks, and then he colours. That’s a dumb thing to be thinking. “Well,” he says, “I hope this guy did.” He gestures at Jjanggu, now snuggling his head into the hollow of Chanyeol’s throat and yawning. He always gets sleepy after grooming. 

Chanyeol looks a little bit delighted by him, tipping his head to press his cheek against Jjanggu’s fur. “He did,” he agrees, and he glances up at Jongin. “Thanks.”

Jongin flushes more. “Didn’t do anything,” he protests, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Alright,” Chanyeol says. Reluctantly, he lifts Jjanggu from his shoulder and hands him back. “I guess I’d better get back to work. Lunch break’s over.” He brushes a hand down the front of his ugly, garish hoodie, and then pushes his hands into his pockets. “Um. Nice meeting you, Jjanggu.” He pets the poodle one more time, his eyes darting up to meet Jongin's. Jongin's stomach swoops. “See you around.”

Jongin very pointedly does not watch him go. It’s silly, getting all flustered over some customer, especially one with bad taste, but it’s okay. Jjanggu forgives him. He huffs from his position in Jongin’s arms, flicking one ear. “Yeah,” Jongin says. “Me too.”

He returns Jjanggu to his pen, and goes back to cleaning the fish tanks, and Joonmyun remains blissfully unaware of what had even happened, too busy standing just a hair too close to Zitao as he talks about his own four cats and what toys they like. It’s best that way, anyway, Jongin thinks. No good comes of guys that can’t even dress themselves.

Joonmyun is cashing out in the back just before close and Jongin is doing his final rounds, tidying everything, when there’s a knock on the door. Jongin looks up to find Chanyeol standing in the doorway. He holds up a pair of coffees and smiles hopefully. Jongin ducks his head and presses the back of his hand to his lips, trying to hold back his grin. Well. Maybe there’s a little good there.


	3. EXO, Kai/Suho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "something fluffy and painfully low-rated where high school senior kai is madly in love with suho the part-timer at the local bookstore and spends the summer before college getting to know him with book puns"

“Hey, Jongin,” Chanyeol says loudly, and Jongin startles, nearly knocking over his iced coffee. He clutches defensively at the manga in his lap, doing his best to be both discrete and hasty when he slaps it closed and hides it beneath his hands. From the amused grin on Chanyeol’s face, he’s not doing so well. “What are you doing here?”

He was pretty sure he would be safe from Chanyeol in a bookstore, but apparently not. He looks completely out of place here, in his oversized hoodie and garish snapback pressed far enough down on his head to push his ears out. “Just, uh.” Jongin gestures at his coffee cup and nearly knocks it over again. That’s normal, right? Like, getting a drink and hanging around at a bookstore. That’s not weird. Jongin rubs his palms against his pants. “You know.”

Chanyeol looks pointedly down at the manga in Jongin’s lap. “Oh yeah,” he says. “Oh, I know.” He leers goodnaturedly, and Jongin turns pink. It’s not even _like_ that. 

He scowls at Chanyeol, hunching his shoulders and throwing his manga on the little table in front of him. It’s not like Chanyeol’s estimation of him can get a whole lot lower at this point. “Whatever,” he grumbles. His eyes fall on the book in Chanyeol’s hands, and he seizes his opportunity. “Maybe I should be asking you what you’re doing here, huh?”

“Picking up something for my sister,” Chanyeol shrugs, brandishing the romance novel. “I guess she needed a break from studying or something.” He squints at Jongin. “I thought you had big plans for the summer? Is this it?” He flicks at the cover of Jongin’s manga with one long finger and snorts.

Okay, so maybe it’s not the most impressive summer hobby. The original plan had spending a few months working at his uncle’s restaurant. It had meant he could save up a bit of money for when he heads off to school and still have his evenings and weekends free to spend time with his friends. It’d been a great idea, until his uncle had instead decided to rehire a university student who was home for the summer, and Jongin was out a job and at a bit of a loss. He’d ended up at the bookshop one afternoon, wandered in for an ice coffee, and found he liked it a lot. It was quaint and quiet, and the manager didn’t mind much if he borrowed a book to read by the window while he drank and that, among, uh, other things, was enough for him to return. “Shut up,” Jongin says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s just temporary.”

“Uh huh,” Chanyeol says, and he taps Jongin on the head with his book. “I gotta go. Take it easy, big guy. Don’t let the wild life burn you out.”

He’s gone before Jongin can muster up a response to that, and it’s probably a good thing, because the best Jongin had was ‘ _you_ take it easy’. He sighs and lifts his coffee, sucking vengefully on his straw. “Dick,” he mumbles, but he only sorta means it. He watches Chanyeol go up to the cash and slides down in his seat, hiding behind his drink.

Sure, this is a nice enough place to read for a bit, but maybe the real reason he’s here is parked behind the cash register, smiling sweetly up at Chanyeol as he rings him through. His name is Joonmyun, Jongin’s learned after careful scrutiny of his nametag (but only when he wasn’t looking), and Jongin thinks he’s in college. He’s tiny and kind of unbearably handsome, and when he hears the obnoxious shout of Chanyeol’s laughter, Jongin decides he must be funny too. Jongin thinks he’s kind of amazing.

Naturally, Jongin, well. Hasn’t managed to say a word to him. The first time he had come in, Joonmyun had caught him in the manga section and asked him if he needed a hand. Jongin had nearly stumbled into the bookshelves and shaken his head wordlessly. It was all he could manage. Joonmyun had been unphased, which was almost worse.

Jongin has tried, he totally has. Every time he comes into the store he buys a coffee and sits down, waiting for an opening to go introduce himself or something, but the right moment never really presents itself. Or, well, it probably does, but Jongin chickens out, shrinking down and burying his nose in his manga. It’s hard, alright?

Chanyeol heads out again, book in hand and when Jongin risks a glance up at the cash, Joonmyun is looking right at him. He smiles warmly at Jongin and Jongin chokes on his coffee. Everything is terrible.

 

-

 

“No, it’s not,” Kyungsoo says absently. He barely looks up from the book in his lap as he pats Jongin’s knee. “You have a crush.” 

As much as he adores Kyungsoo, sometimes he’s not very good at the whole comforting thing. “Hyung,” Jongin whines. This is _important_. He sprawls out on the couch, burying his face in a pillow and only lifting his head enough to fix one baleful eye on Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo sighs, marking his place in his book with a finger as he turns to look at Jongin. “Just say something to him, Jongin-ah,” he says. “You’ve been going there for weeks. I’m sure he’s noticed you by now. Just, you know, ask him for ice cream or something.”

“Ice cream?” Ice cream is _childish_. Joonmyun is in college. “Ice cream? Hyung. Guys don’t like _ice cream_.”

Kyungsoo raises one eyebrow. “ _You_ like ice cream,” he points out. Jongin groans and turns his face back to his pillow again. That’s not even the point, Kyungsoo definitely doesn’t get it. 

By the time he looks up again, Chanyeol is standing in the doorway. Jongin isn’t sure exactly why Kyungsoo always lets Chanyeol in when he knocks on the door, because he definitely doesn’t help when he’s trying to study and he eats all his food. “Ice cream?” Chanyeol asks hopefully. “I could go for some of that right now.”

“No,” Kyungsoo says with a wave of his hand. He shows no sign of stopping and Jongin’s stomach drops with dread. Oh no. “No, Jongin is trying to figure out how to ask the guy at the bookshore on a date.” 

Now Jongin really has a reason to hide. “Hyung,” he says. “You didn’t have to _tell_ him.”

Chanyeol shoves Jongin’s feet off the couch so he can sit down and peers at him with interest. “So there _was_ a reason you were there!” he asks. “Which one is it?” He jabs a finger into the back of Jongin’s leg. “The great big handsome tall one or the one with the smile that could fit in your pocket?”

Jongin squirms around and raises an eyebrow at ‘handsome’ but he has more pressing issues at the moment. Like how his whole life is embarrassing. “The short one,” he mumbles. 

Chanyeol nods solemnly. “You do have a type,” he says, and he grins. Like Jongin needs to be reminded of the mortifying three months last year he’d been convinced that he was in love with Kyungsoo. He kicks back viciously at Chanyeol, his heel catching him squarely in the thigh.

Thankfully, Kyungsoo ignores the whole thing. “I told him to just ask him out, but apparently that’s not good enough.”

Something in Chanyeol’s grin gets devious, and it’s kind of alarming. It’s the way his eyes go wonky, Jongin decides. “He’s gotta be smooth,” Chanyeol says. “He’s gotta really butter him up.”

“I’m smooth,” Jongin protests. Kyungsoo turns back to his book and pats his knee again. He has terrible friends.

“I’ve got it,” Chanyeol says. “He works in a bookstore, right? Why not use a couple of bookstore pick up lines? Foolproof.” He beams at Jongin, pleased as punch that he’s solved the problem.

The look that Kyungsoo fixes on Chanyeol is icy and dismissive. “That is probably the dumbest thing i have heard in my entire life,” he says. Jongin kind of agrees.

“No, no,” Chanyeol says, gesturing widely with his hands. “Think about it! They’re lame, but like, in a cute way. It’s totally endearing, right? Trust me.”

Trust Chanyeol. Jongin narrows his eyes in suspicion. That really doesn’t sound like something he wants to do right now. The thing is that Chanyeol is also mysteriously good at getting dates, a fact that has always puzzled Jongin, considering that Chanyeol is gangly and twitchy and way too loud for his own good. There must be _something_ he’s doing right. “I don’t know...” he says slowly.

Chanyeol taps his nose and narrows his eyes, nodding sagely like he has just imparted sage wisdom on Jongin, passed down generation to generation. Jongin hates him. “Trust me,” he says again, and then he reaches for Kyungsoo’s remote and flicks on the TV.

Pick up lines. It sounds pretty dumb. Jongin pulls at the hem of his shirt and Kyungsoo resolutely ignores them both. 

“I’ll go with you, if you want,” Chanyeol says casually. He looks away from the tv for a second and smiles at Jongin in a way that he probably thinks is reassuring. It’s not, really. “As like, moral support.”

“You just want to see my embarrass myself,” Jongin accuses, and Chanyeol shrugs a shoulder.

“No way,” he says. “My plan will work.” He grins wider. “I mean, if you _do_ embarrass yourself and I happen to be there to see it, well. That’s just a bonus.”

Jongin squints at him and says nothing. He has his misgivings, but maybe Chanyeol’s got something there. Anything has to be better than going up to Joonmyun like a kid and asking him if he likes _ice cream_. Right?

 

-

 

Jongin clutches his iced coffee as he approaches the counter. This is a bad idea. He turns back to glance at Chanyeol, camped out at his usual table, and he flashes Jongin a great big thumbs up. Great. Real subtle. Still, he’s here, right?? He’s wearing his best jeans and the paper shoved in his pocket has a list of book-related pick-up lines. He’s well prepared. He can do this. Right?

Joonmyun looks up as he approaches, and Jongin nearly trips over his own feet. He’s wearing this kind of horrific button-up shirt and Jongin knows he’s really sunk, because he somehow finds that endearing. “Hey,” Joonmyun says with a blinding smile, and Jongin’s heart pretty much stops. His tone is familiar, like he _knows who Jongin is_ , and Jongin didn’t know it was possible for things to get better and worse at the same time, but they do. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing his throat, Jongin leans over the counter, doing his best to make it look natural. “Um,” he says. “Is your name Scarlett?” Joonmyun’s smile slips for a second, replaced by a little bewilderment. Jongin plows on. “‘Cause when I saw you, my heart was gone with the wind.”

Joonmyun blinks at him for a second, and Jongin uses that time wisely. He knows where all of his immediate exits are. His best bet is a bolt to the door. The bookshelves are closer and would provide cover, but eventually he’d have to see Joonmyun again, and at this very instant, Jongin isn’t sure that’s a good idea. But then Joonmyun is laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, and Jongin’s is certain his knees are literally melting. “No,” he says gently. “I’m Joonmyun. And you are?”

It takes Jongin a beat to reply. “Oh, uh, Kim Jongin,” he fumbles out, squeezing the sweaty drink cup in his hand. Honestly, he hadn’t really thought it through past the line and the delivery. He throws a look back at Chanyeol, and this time, he points a finger at Jongin, eyebrows raised. _See? Told you_. Whatever, Park Chanyeol. 

“Nice to finally meet you, Kim Jongin,” Joonmyun says. His eyes flick back towards Chanyeol, parked at the table, and his smile widens just a little. Jongin is too busy fixating on that ‘finally’. He’d noticed him? That’s a good thing, right? Like, a flirty thing, not a ‘yeah, I’ve seen you stalking me, you weirdo’ kind of thing. “I always see you reading your manga but you’ve never said hello.”

“I, um. Yeah, I like to come here,” Jongin says. He holds up his coffee, shaking it a little so that the ice cubes rattle against the plastic cup. “For the coffee.”

“The coffee, sure,” Joonmyun says. It’s not accusing or anything, it’s just kind of warm and friendly and Joonmyun is even better than he’d thought he would be, and he’s making Jongin completely tongue-tied. He feels jittery and nervous and totally elated and terrified all at the same time.

But there’s a problem. Jongin’s not really a great conversationalist on the best of days and right now, he feels like all his words have just dried up. This is it! This is his moment, his opening, and he has no idea at all what to say. “Uh,” he says. Joonmyun watches him patiently and Jongin’s resolve vanishes. “I have to go, I have a...thing. But. It was nice meeting you?”

He bolts. Good thing he’s got that coffee to fuel him as he makes a quick exit. “See you later, Jongin,” Joonmyun calls after him, and Jongin feels a little bit weak when he hears him use his name. It’s silly how just that can have such an effect on him. He’s going off to _university_ in a matter of months, and he still turns into a tongue-tied idiot around the guy he’s got a thing for.

Chanyeol catches up with him a few blocks later. “What was that?” he says. “You were doing good!” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you pussied out like that.”

Jongin scowls at him. “Whatever, hyung,” he says. Chanyeol is annoying but he can’t actually dampen Jongin’s spirits too much right now. Sure, he ran. But Joonmyun knows his _name_. He totally remembered him! Jongin is floating right now. 

They stop at the corner, waiting for the light, and Chanyeol just stares at him pityingly. “You didn’t even ask him _out_ ,” he says. 

“Yeah, but…” Chanyeol doesn’t _get_ it. Jongin’s never been any good at these things. He knows he’s pretty good looking, he’s gotten his share of confessions through high school. But he’s never really done any of that himself. He’d busied himself in school with his studies and with his dance and he’d never really had the time to let a crush get to the point where he actually pursued it. So this is kind of a really Big Deal. “Whatever,” Jongin says. He takes a long sip of his coffee. He’s totally counting today as a win.

 

-

 

“I wish I could’ve seen it,” Sehun says. He stuffs another bite of tteokbokki in his mouth and frowns. “How come you took Chanyeol with you? I didn’t even _know_ about this guy.”

“It’s not a show,” Jongin grumbles. He knew this would happen as soon as Sehun knew. He’d made the mistake of confiding in Sehun in first year when he had a crush on Soojung, and even after the feelings had faded, Sehun had torn into him mercilessly for _months_. He was just trying to protect himself for a little while longer. “And it totally wasn’t that entertaining. I just said hi.”

Chanyeol knocks the back of his hand against Jongin’s arm. “With a terrible pick-up line. And then he ran!” he adds. Jongin might have to kill him. “It was beautiful.”

“Dude, you’re really bad at this,” Sehun says, licking sauce off his lips. “The whole point of a pick-up line is like, you actually pick someone up.” He sighs. “At least tell me you’re gonna try to get a date out of this guy this time.”

Jongin buries his face in his arms. “I’m gonna!” he insists, voice muffled. He totally is! It’s just that - well, it’s not like it’s that easy. Joonmyun’s all older and so friendly with everyone who comes into the store and handsome. Jongin can’t quit thinking about his easy smile and his small hands and the way he dresses like an old man. He _wants_ to ask him out. It’s just - he’s gotta work his way up to it. That’s all.

“Thank God for that,” Sehun says. 

Jongin flinches as Chanyeol’s hand comes down heavily on the back of his head. He’s pretty certain that Chanyeol thinks it’s a friendly gesture, even if Jongin’s forehead might be bruised from hitting the table. “And I’ll be there for you, man, one hundred and ten percent,” Chanyeol assures him. “Don’t you worry about it.”

Considering that last time around, Chanyeol had mostly sat back at the table and eyeballed Joonmyun’s coworker, Jongin isn’t really sure what kind of help he was actually providing, but whatever, sure. “Yeah,” Jongin says. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you, buddy,” Chanyeol says solemnly, stealing the last piece of tteokbokki from Sehun. It was probably not his best move. Sehun punches him hard in the arm, and the two of them begin squabbling noisily, Chanyeol trying to wipe sauce on Sehun’s face despite Sehun’s protests. Jongin sits up again and props his chin up in one hand. At least they’re not making fun of him anymore. 

 

-

 

“Don’t be a dweeb this time,” Chanyeol whispers, and he shoves Jongin forward. It’s been a week, and Chanyeol has decided that that is enough time for Jongin to rebuild his courage. Jongin’s avoided the bookstore the whole time, because, well. But Kyungsoo is getting tired of Jongin camping out on his couch and Chanyeol is really taking a shine to his role as wise teacher, so here Jongin stands again. He doesn’t have anything to occupy his hands this time, and he rubs his sweaty palms against his pants, trying to relax.

He waits until Joonmyun comes out of the back, and he’s gotta admit, the way that Joonmyun breaks into an immediate smile sends a total rush through him. “Hey!” Joonmyun says. “Jongin, right?”

He _remembers_. “Oh,” Jongin says, flushing. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Joonmyun drops his stack of books on the counter and then turns to face Jongin. “It’s been a few, huh? What can I do for you?” He gestures back towards the bookshelves where the manga is kept. “The new one came in the other day, were you looking for that?” 

Oh, huh. He’ll have to check that out. He considers it for a second, but then he hears Chanyeol clear his throat. “Later, maybe,” he says. Here goes nothing. “You know, you remind me of a library book.”

There’s this look on Joonmyun’s face as he leans one elbow against the counter, and Jongin can’t quite read it. He thinks it’s a good one, though. “I do?” Joonmyun asks. He tips his head. “How so?”

“Well, uh, ‘cause I can’t stop checking you out.”

Jongin really, really likes the way that Joonmyun’s eyes look when he laughs. “You’re adorable,” he says, and to his credit, he doesn’t even seem embarrassed by Jongin. That’s impressive, considering that even Jongin is embarrassed by Jongin. “Even if this is a bookstore, not a library.”

“Close enough?” Jongin tries.

Joonmyun laughs again and there is a part of Jongin that is in total disbelief. How was Chanyeol right about this? How is he right about anything? He always looks like he’s doing everything by accident. “Close enough,” Joonmyun agrees. He leans in a little, and it takes all of Jongin’s willpower to resist the urge to shy away. Proximity is good, Kim. “Is that why you were coming in here all the time?”

Jongin cringes. “Maybe,” he says.

Pressing his fingers to his mouth thoughtfully, Joonmyun takes a step forward. “Hey,” he says. “Do you want to maybe get coffee some time?” Jongin stares at him, astonished, and only belatedly remembers to close his mouth. “I seem to remember that you’re a big fan of that.”

Blood is rushing in Jongin’s ears. “Um,” he says. Holy _shit_. He never expected that Joonmyun would ask him out first. He throws a desperate glance over at Chanyeol, but he’s flipping through a hip hop magazine and not-so-discretely staring at Joonmyun’s coworker as he reshelves biography. Whatever, Chanyeol was never useful in the first place. “Sure. Coffee’s good. Coffee’s great. Or like. Ice cream? Or whatever. Whatever you want.” He can hear himself babbling so he cuts himself off, trying on a shaky smile. Good job, Kim.

“You are so, so cute,” Joonmyun tells him, and Jongin simultaneously wants to melt into the floor and also float away. It’s a weird feeling, makes his stomach shift. “I like ice cream, too.” He pauses, and then he digs his phone out of his pocket and holds it out. Jongin stares at it blankly. “Can I have your number?” Joonmyun clarifies. “So we can plan our ice cream coffee date.”

Date. Jongin grins dreamily at Joonmyun. “Oh, yeah, duh, of course.” He hands over his own phone, and it takes him a bit of fumbling, but he manages to figure out how to put his number in. 

As he hands it back, he’s overly aware of how badly he’s doing with conversation. Still, Joonmyun seems patient. He’s buzzing with hope, and the realization that Joonmyun has been watching him too, but now there’s pressure. Now he’s gotta be a good _date_ too. Man, he really needs to start thinking about what he’s gonna do after Joonmyun says yes to things. “Hey,” Joonmyun says, and Jongin looks up from his phone. _joonmyun hyung_ , it says. His stomach swoops. “Relax, alright?”

Jongin rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he mutters. He stares at Joonmyun’s shoes. They’re old man shoes. Practical. He likes them. “I’m not very good at this stuff,” he admits.

“I know,” Joonmyun says easily. “But you’re doing pretty good.” He nudges Jongin with his knuckles and though Joonmyun is half his size, Jongin feels like he could bowl him over right now. “Those lines are pretty good.”

When Jongin smiles again, it’s a little more genuine. “It was Chanyeol’s idea,” he says. “But I looked them up myself.”

“Cute,” Joonmyun says again, and Jongin kinda wants to die. Lucky for him, they get interrupted by a woman in an expensive coat, carrying an armful of books and clearing her throat pointedly. “I have to get back to work,” Joonmyun says, and Jongin can’t help but be pleased by how regretful Joonmyun sounds. “Text me, alright?”

Jongin bobs his head. “Promise,” he says, a bit giddy.

Joonmyun glances at the woman, and then he stretches up to speak right into Jongin’s ear. “Do you know what they say about book lovers?” he asks. Jongin shakes his head, doing his best not to think about how close Joonmyun is or how his breath against the shell of Jongin’s ear is sending shivers down his spine. “They never go to bed alone.”

He winks at Jongin and then he’s gone, sliding behind the counter to take the sale. He deals with the impatient customer with impeccable politeness and a bright smile, like Jongin isn’t still standing there, frozen to the spot and bright red. He finally gathers himself enough to walk away, and Joonmyun gives him a little wave and a grin. Jongin hadn’t even - he’d only been thinking about a date! Not...that. Not that that was a _bad_ thing. But.

“You look dazed,” Chanyeol says, prodding him in the forehead. “How’d it go?”

Jongin manages to wave back at Joonmyun, and then he pushes Chanyeol out the door. “I think I have a date,” he says in disbelief.

Chanyeol puffs out his chest, bumping Jongin with his hip. “See!” he says. “Told you. I’m always right.”

He’s not sure about that, but Jongin ignores him, choosing instead to pull his phone out of his pocket. _joonmyun hyung_. He grins. Now he just has to figure out how to do the whole date thing. It can’t be that hard, right?

Right?


	4. EXO, Chanyeol/Suho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "chanyeol gets suho high and they go to taco bell and do other things that high people do."

This was the best idea that Chanyeol has _ever_ had. Joonmyun fists his hands in the hem of his ugly sweater and blinks up at him. “I think,” Joonmyun says, and then he pauses so long Chanyeol wonders for a second if he’s forgotten he was saying something. “I think it’s working.” Joonmyun can’t even hold his eyes open all the way. Chanyeol thinks he looks adorable

“Maybe a little,” Chanyeol says, but he’s grinning wide enough to break his face. It’s not that Joonmyun’s a prude or anything, but he just doesn’t tend to do this kind of thing, and especially not around his dongsaengs. Chanyeol thinks he must’ve been pretty stressed out to finally agree this time. Chanyeol is delighted. “How are you feeling?”

Joonmyun looks down at his hands for a very long moment. “Huh,” he says, and a smile dawns on his face. “Pretty good,” he admits. “Wow.”

Ever since Chanyeol met him, Joonmyun has been wound a little tight. He covers it well, his smile is very practiced and he never complains, but Chanyeol’s an old hand at faking it too. He knows how to recognize the signs. Even when he’s with his friends, he’s always restrained, he’s always in control. This is the first time that Chanyeol has ever seen that restraint slip. One of Joonmyun’s socks has slipped down his heel and he hasn’t fixed it, and if that isn’t a sign that he’s high as a kite, Chanyeol doesn’t know what is. 

His posture is all different, too. For once, he doesn’t look like the perfect, model boyfriend, shoulders square and stiff in his stuffy sweaters. He’s relaxed. Chanyeol likes it. “I never knew you could unwind like this, hyung,” he says, and Joonmyun snorts and rolls his eyes.

“There’s a great deal you don’t know about me, Park Chanyeol,” he intones. He rolls his shoulders and then lets his head fall against the back of the couch. “I should not be doing this.”

He’s probably right, Chanyeol has to admit. It’s probably bad form for his TA to be getting stoned with one of his students, especially when the semester still hasn’t ended. Chanyeol has decided to take it as a sign of his persuasive abilities and how awesome he is. “But you are,” Chanyeol says, smug. “And you’re gonna have a great time.”

Joonmyun straightens, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, am I?” he asks. He’s rubbing his hands along the hem of his sweater unconsciously. 

“Yes,” Chanyeol says firmly. Honestly, even with the pot, he’s a little bit nervous. He’s known Joonmyun for a while, met him through Kris in his third year of university, but they’ve never really spent a lot of time one-on-one. He’s glad to have this chance, to see Joonmyun in a way that he’s pretty sure not a lot of people get to see. He’d like to think that’s a little bit special. “Definitely.”

All he gets in response is a faint hum before Joonmyun straightens abruptly. He pats his belly, and then he gets up. “Hungry,” he says, and he tugs at Chanyeol’s cuff. “C’mon. Let’s get something to eat.”

Chanyeol does his best not to thrill at the contact. Joonmyun’s never been particularly touchy with him, so he likes this development. He lets Joonmyun slide his small hand into his and tug him up. His grip is warm and firm. “I know just the thing,” Chanyeol says.

Chanyeol’s apartment isn’t that nice. It’s small, sometimes the water doesn’t run hot in the mornings, and he can hear his neighbours talking, if it’s quiet enough. The best part, though, the best part is that he has all the best food joints within walking distance. Including Taco Bell. Now, Chanyeol isn’t an expert on Mexican food, but he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to taste like Taco Bell tastes. On the other hand, literally nothing tastes as good as a burrito when you’re stoned. It’s perfect.

“I have never been in here,” Joonmyun says with interest, peering at the menu. “I don’t - what’s good?” He gravitates to Chanyeol’s side, toying with his fingers, his cheek pressed to Chanyeol’s shoulder. “I don’t recognize anything.” He digs his wallet out of his pocket. “I’m starved though.”

The heat of Joonmyun’s body sends a thrill down Chanyeol’s spine, and he grins, foggy. “Oh, trust me,” he says. “I’ve got this.” Especially if Joonmyun’s paying, too.

They end up with a tray piled high with a mountain of food, and they hole up at a table in the corner. “What is this?” Joonmyun asks curiously, prodding one of the wrapped. “I can’t tell if I think it smells good or not.” 

“Burrito supreme,” Chanyeol says through a mouthful of his own. “Just try it, hyung.”

The noises Joonmyun makes when he eats are kind of obscene. “Oh my god,” he says. “This is amazing. I can’t believe I’ve never eaten here before, I’m never eating anywhere again.” Chanyeol has to cover his mouth when he laughs. It’s quite a sight, his handsome, strait-laced TA getting sauce on the front of his ugly sweater as he chows down on his food. He thinks he likes it. Especially when Joonmyun keeps making those borderline pornographic noises of enjoyment, his eyes sliding shut in pleasure and his shoulders shaking a little. These tacos? Definitely not that good. Joonmyun’s face, though, that’s something else.

Joonmyun makes it through two burritos, three tacos, and one crunchwrap supreme before he slows. “Man, hyung,” Chanyeol says. He’s impressed. “Did you not eat today, or something?” How does someone so small put away so much food.

Joonmyun sighs happily, laying his head down on the dirty plastic table. “That was perfect,” he says. He bumps one of his ankles up against Chanyeol’s and grins sleepily. “You’re a genius.”

Chanyeol snorts. “If this is genius,” he says, gesturing around at the fast food restaurant, brightly lit and nearly empty, “then you need to get out a bit and live more.” Joonmyun just laughs.

They take their time walking back to Chanyeol’s apartment. Joonmyun hooks his arm in Chanyeol’s and slows them down to a mosey, dragging his heels and looking around at everything like he’s never seen it before in his life. They stop for a while, because Joonmyun just had to say hello to a woman’s dog. Chanyeol was just glad that the woman was indulgent and let them pet it.

Joonmyun lets out a little groan when he flops onto Chanyeol’s couch. He squirms around, trying to make himself comfortable. “I think I have a food baby,” he says, looking at Chanyeol. His eyes are half-lidded and red. “I need to digest it like a snake.”

Chanyeol could point out that digesting a baby is _weird_ , hyung, but he doesn’t bother. From his vantage point on the floor, he’s got a really good view of Joonmyun’s ass, and he’d prefer to think about that. “It’s getting late,” he points out.

“Mmm.” Joonmyun has already buried his face into the cushion, and he just reaches out a hand for Chanyeol. “Too tired to go anywhere.”

Hesitantly, Chanyeol takes it, lets Joonmyun pull him in until they’re both smushed onto the same couch. It’s not as awkward as it could be, because Joonmyun is tiny and Chanyeol is tall but thin, and Joonmyun fits pretty nicely underneath his chin. “I guess you can stay the night,” he says.

“Thought so.” Joonmyun’s nose is pressed to Chanyeol’s chest, and he worms his arms around Chanyeol’s waist. It’s so nice and comfortable that Chanyeol doesn’t even have the capacity to get flustered by Joonmyun’s proximity. Instead, he gives into the pull of sleep and lets his eyes slide shut. He can worry about how awkward his history classes are about to become in the morning.


	5. BTOB, Hyunsik/Minhyuk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'd really like otaku/nerd piques the closet nerd!popular kid's interest school AU or just manga dates in general ;u; ♥"

Minhyuk likes to plan these outings carefully. There’s no one around so late at night on a Tuesday, especially on a night this cold, which means that the store will be empty too. It’s not that he’s afraid of running into someone he knows, but, well. It’s just easier if less people know about his embarrassing little hobby. Eunkwang knows, but he doesn’t count. He’s Minhyuk’s roommate, his best friend for years, and also possibly the weirdest person Minhyuk has ever met. He really doesn’t mind.

He’s been coming to this comic shop for a few weeks, and he’s never seen any familiar faces, so when he turns to greet the man behind the counter he jerks when he realizes he knows him. “Ah, hello, Minhyuk-ssi,” Lim Hyunsik says politely. If he’s surprised, he covers it well, smiling companionably at Minhyuk. 

He’s not very big, but he’s got broad shoulders, strong arms that Minhyuk can see even underneath his sweater. They only know each other a little - they shared a class in Literature once, when Minhyuk needed to make up some first year credits, and they worked on one project together, but that’s the extent of their relationship. Most of what Minhyuk knows, he knows by observation, things he’s heard through the grapevine. He’s a talented singer, keeps to himself except for a few close friends, and he’s never seen without a manhwa in hand. “Nice to see you again, Hyunsik,” Minhyuk replies. And it is, he supposes. Hyunsik has always been easy to talk to, a genial guy, nice. Maybe he should make a bit more of an effort. 

Other than his greeting, Hyunsik makes no move to pick up a conversation, and Minhyuk is grateful. He was trying to avoid people tonight anyway.

Minhyuk takes his time making his way through the stacks, but his focus is gone. He’d meant to come in here, pick up the newest books in a few of his series’, and then get out, but somehow his eyes keep finding their way up to the front of the shop. It’s not that odd, really, that Hyunsik would have a job on the side to support himself through university. Plenty of people do that kind of thing. And considering what little Minhyuk does know about him, it makes sense that Hyunsik would pick here. Still, he’s curious. He can see the dark circles under Hyunsik’s eyes as he bends over some paperwork at the counter, and he wonders how Hyunsik balances overnight shifts with classes.

He finds himself drifting back up towards the front of the store, almost without thinking. As he approaches, he realizes that Hyunsik’s doing homework. He has a textbook open and papers spread across the entire counter. “That’s handy,” Minhyuk says, and Hyunsik’s head snaps up. “You get paid to study. This must be a pretty good gig.” He hefts the manhwa in his hand. “Though, I’d probably just end up reading all night.”

Hyunsik looks a little surprised by Minhyuk, but he laughs, carefully sliding the textbook shut and turning towards him. “It makes up for the whole having to stay up all night thing,” he agrees. “If I can’t sleep, I at least get some extra study time in.” With Minhyuk’s presence, the tiredness in his eyes has eased a bit. He has a great smile, Minhyuk notes absently. There’s nothing memorably handsome about Hyunsik’s face, but his smile, his smile changes that. 

“Lucky you,” Minhyuk says. He loosens his jacket, sets his manhwa choices down on the counter, and leans against it. It’s a lot warmer in here than it is outside, and he feels like he’ll be here for a while yet. “Have you worked here for a long time?” He comes here pretty regularly, usually late at night, and he’s never seen Hyunsik here before.

Hyunsik nods. “I don’t usually get stuck with the midnight shift,” he says, shrugging a shoulder, “but yeah, I’ve been here a few months.” He pauses and colours. “I’ve never - I didn’t know you were into manhwa.” He gestures at the books in front of Minhyuk. 

“Ah, yeah,” Minhyuk laughs. “I know it’s a little -” He catches himself before he says something cruel - Hyunsik is a big fan of this stuff, obviously - and then Hyunsik isn’t the only one flushed. “ - I’m not the type of person you probably see around here.” Hyunsik is more the type, Minhyuk thinks. When he leans over the counter, he can see Hyunsik’s too-short pants and his ugly socks. They’re kinda cute. Still, Minhyuk isn’t like him. He plays on the soccer team and goes out to parties every weekend. He’s not...he’s different. 

Hyunsik tips his head, looks thoughtful. Maybe Minhyuk isn’t as good as he’d thought at hiding his discomfort. “It’s cool,” he says, and when he smiles at Minhyuk, it’s bright in a way he’s never seen before. His eyes practically disappear as his entire face creases into his smile and Minhyuk’s heart stutters so hard he almost has to press a hand to to his chest to make sure it’s still going. _Wow_. “It’s like, you’re a man of mystery.”

Even Eunkwang gives him shit about the manhwa thing, and here Hyunsik is, insisting that it’s _cool_. It’s…it’s something. “Hey,” Minhyuk says. “I didn’t have dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Uh, I guess?” Hyunsik looks confused. “But I’m the only one in here. I can’t leave.” He’s blushing again, harder, and Minhyuk is a little bit entranced. He’s flustered, he doesn’t know what to do with Minhyuk, and Minhyuk kind of likes that he’s having this effect on him.

Minhyuk points over his shoulder at the chairs and tables that line one wall. “What if I order something in?” The whole time, there’s been no one else in the shop, and if Hyunsik can do his homework without worry, maybe he can slide out from behind the cash for a few minutes. Minhyuk thinks, only for a second, about his morning class and the paper he should work on. 

“Oh, um.” Hyunsik grins again, so wide and genuine that Minhyuk thinks he might go weak in the knees. “Alright. Why not?”

Score. Minhyuk beams back at him. “How do you feel about jjajangmyeon?” he asks. His night has definitely gotten a lot more interesting.


	6. EXO, Kris/Chanyeol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "KrisYeol~ Chanyeol wants to learn to swim and his teacher wants to teach him how ^^;;"

This is so embarrassing. “Uh, no,” Chanyeol says, scrunching his bare toes in the sand. “I think I’ll sit this one out.” 

Jongdae shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then he’s gone, racing down the beach with a whoop. Chanyeol watches as he collides with Joonmyun, hooks an arm around his neck, and then drags him into the water. He gives them a second, to make sure that Jongdae doesn’t actively drown Joonmyun (he’s never been very coordinated), and then he goes back to his towel in the sand.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to swim or join the fun or whatever, but the thing is, Chanyeol can’t swim. He didn’t live near the beach as a kid, and when it came to keeping busy in the summer when he was a kid, hitting the pool was not on the top of his parents’ list. It’s not really a big deal most of the time, it’s not like he’s an avid boater and like, risks near-certain death every time he goes out. It’s just times like these, when all of his friends are out laughing and splashing in the water and he’s stuck on a damp, sandy towel, it kinda blows.

“Hey.” Kris drops heavily onto the sand next to Chanyeol. His bleached hair is a mess, wet and pushed back off his forehead, water dripping down his chest. Not that Chanyeol is paying attention. “You’re not gonna swim?”

“Nah,” Chanyeol shrugs. He pulls his shirt over his head and flops dramatically backwards. “I’m working on my tan, see? I’m trying to top Jongin.” Speaking of...Chanyeol cracks an eyelid to look over at Jongin, showing off in the sand in front of a now very bedraggled Joonmyun. He can’t help but bray with laughter when Jongin trips and takes a header, getting a mouthful of sand. Of course, it probably evens out when Joonmyun drops to his knees in front of him, brushing the sand off his cheeks and fixing his hair.

Kris eyes him sideways. “I think you’re a bit pasty for that, buddy,” he says, nudging Chanyeol with one knee. Kris is one to talk - the instant he’d gotten to the beach he’d slathered every inch of his exposed skin in SPF 60 to protect his complexion. “Might have to abandon that dream.”

“Don’t hold me down,” Chanyeol warns, waving a finger at him. He reaches around blindly in the sand until his fingers hit his sunglasses and he slides them on. Not only are they stylish, but they hide his eyes. Bonus.

“Okay, okay,” Kris holds up his hands in defeat. After a few seconds, he knocks his hand against Chanyeol’s chest. “But seriously. Since when do you sit out of all the action? You’re being weird. What’s up?”

Chanyeol scrunches up his nose and rolls his eyes, though it takes a second to remember that Kris won’t be able to see it. “I’m not being weird! I’m just working on my quest to become a living Ken Doll.” He flashes Kris his best smile in the hopes of dazzling him out of digging further. “If you were a good hyung, you would support my goals.”

“I’m an excellent hyung,” Kris frowns at him. 

Chanyeol shrugs, turning away and laying his arms down flat like he really is trying to tan. No one can fault his commitment to his story. Out in the water, Jongdae is very casually forcing Baekhyun’s head under the water while Kyungsoo watches idly. There’s something fundamentally wrong with his friends, Chanyeol thinks.

“You’re not answering my question,” Kris says again, and Chanyeol pulls a face. Maybe he’s been using that smile on Kris too often. That’s why it doesn’t work anymore. “You should be out there with the rest of them, trying to drown someone. Why aren’t you?”

Sighing, Chanyeol straightens. “I’m just not into it?” he tries, brushing the sand off his shoulders. “Like, I’m not into the whole getting wet thing. What if the salt is like, bad for my skin?” That one’s paper thin, and Kris just throws him a long look. “Fine,” he grumbles. He folds his legs up in front of him and drops his chin onto his knees. “I can’t swim,” he mumbles.

“I literally didn’t hear a word you just said,” Kris says.

When Chanyeol glances over at him, his gaze is steady and Chanyeol groans. He’s really not going to let this go, is he? “I can’t swim,” he says, a bit louder. Not too loud, though, because Jongin and Joonmyun are still close by, heads bent together underneath Joonmyun’s umbrella. “Okay? Happy now?”

Kris blinks. “Huh,” he says. “Is that it?”

Chanyeol colours. “Whatever, okay? It’s embarrassing.”

“Hey.” Kris leans forward to get into Chanyeol’s line of vision again. “You spent hours crammed in a van next to Oh Sehun, and you’re just gonna sit in the sand while everyone else has fun?”

“I might do a bit of knitting,” Chanyeol huffs, and Kris grins at him.

He holds out one big hand. “C’mon,” he says. “At least go in the water with me. I promise not to let you drown.”

Chanyeol stares at it for a second, considering it. If there’s anyone on this beach he trusts right now, it’s Kris. Joonmyun _probably_ fell under that category too, but he was also tiny and so Chanyeol couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t be swept out to sea if he ever attempted a rescue. “Okay,” Chanyeol says slowly, taking Kris’ hand. “Fine. But if I die, I am definitely haunting you. I’m talking cold puddles everywhere.”

Kris rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, deal,” he says.

He leads them down to the water, away from everyone else. He’s deliberately avoiding the rest of them, and Chanyeol can’t help but be thankful. He lets Kris pull him into the water, yelping at the cold of it against his feet and then flushing when Kris turns back to grin at him. “Shut up,” he says.

“Didn’t say anything,” Kris says cheerfully.

The water reaches just above his knees when Chanyeol balks. “I think this is good,” he says. It’s cold and the waves are strong enough that he can feel the push of them against his legs, and he’s not sure he wants to go any further. “That’s enough for today. I’m done.”

Kris just turns around and grabs Chanyeol’s other hand. He starts walking them backwards, pulling Chanyeol inexorably further. “I’ve got you,” he says, and Chanyeol grips Kris’ hands hard and follows him out. 

He stares resolutely ahead when he sees that their friends have caught notice. Jongdae shouts his name, heading towards them, and Chanyeol feels a sick rush of embarrassment, but Kyungsoo puts a stop to it by neatly tripping Jongdae and sending him headfirst into a wave. He nods at Chanyeol, a little smile on his face, and then Jongdae is leaping at him, getting his watery revenge. 

Chanyeol loves Kyungsoo. He loves him the most.

When the cold water hits an uncomfortable height, Chanyeol gives a decidedly unmanly shriek and stops dead. “No, no, no,” he says, trying to squirm out of Kris’ grip. “I think my dick just climbed into my body. Hyung, we’ve got to go back to shore before it’s permanent. _Hyung_.”

“Chanyeol,” Kris says. “I promise I’ll still be your friend if your outtie becomes an innie.” He grins again, that stupid wide grin with his big white teeth and too much gum, and somehow Chanyeol’s traitorous feet kick into motion again. 

“You think you’re so funny,” Chanyeol mutters. Kris seems unphased. 

They stop when the water is lapping at Chanyeol’s belly button. This is the most water Chanyeol has ever been in in his entire life, and he’s more than a little nervous about that, squeezing Kris’ hands tight. “Alright,” Kris says. “See? Not so bad.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Chanyeol says. And it’s not, really. Slowly, he bends his knees until he’s almost neck deep, and he looks up at Kris. “Whoa,” he says. This is kind of neat. 

“Next step,” Kris says. “You’re gonna learn how to float.” He tightens his hands around Chanyeol’s for a second, letting him know that he’s right there. “Just lift your feet. It’s fine.”

Chanyeol isn’t sure about this prospect. He eyes Kris with suspicion even as Kris is lowering himself into the water too. “What if I float away?” he asks suspiciously.

“You’re not a pool noodle, Chanyeol,” Kris tells him, and Chanyeol slaps their joined hands against the water, sending little waves splashing towards him. “Come on. Trust me.”

Trust him. Kris’ hands in his are steady and firm and Chanyeol takes a deep breath. Trust him. Okay. Sure. Why not? “Pushy,” Chanyeol says. “Okay. But if I drift out to sea…”

Kris nods seriously. “Extreme haunting, the Park Chanyeol version. Got it.” Gently, he pulls one of his hands out of Chanyeol’s and stands still, waiting.

Okay. Chanyeol’s got this, right? Anything Baekhyun can do, Chanyeol can do. And better. He grips Kris’ hand, swallows hard, and lifts his feet.

Under the water, Kris brings his free hand up to press against the small of Chanyeol’s back, pushing him up towards the surface. “Stretch out your legs,” Kris says. “Let the water do the work. It’s all about the buoyancy. Small, solid object sinks. Big, flat object floats.”

“Nerd,” Chanyeol tells him. He tips his head back finally, and everything goes quiet as his ears go underwater. He’s never felt anything like this, like almost being weightless. The water is still cold, but Chanyeol doesn’t mind that much now, with Kris’ hands warm against his skin. If he focuses, he can still hear their friends, shouting and laughing, but it all seems so quiet and still. “Wow,” he says, and even his own voice sounds unreal.

“See?” Kris says, leaning over him. His voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. “Look at you.”

“Yeah, look at me.” Chanyeol grins up him, wide and uninhibited and Kris grins back. They’re so close that their noses are almost brushing and this is kind of amazing. Sure, it’s not really swimming, but it’s the closest he’s ever gotten, and he doesn’t even mind that his hair will probably look stupid when it dries. Chanyeol has never been to the sea before, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to top a day like today.


	7. EXO, Xiumin/Chen/Kai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jongdae and Jongin are Minseok's kitties. They're naughty. But tons of fun."

An empty bed and the smell of cooking food wake Minseok up, and he pushes up on one elbow, disoriented. The slant of sunlight through the window says it’s later than he’d anticipated, and he’s not used to being the last one to wake up. He rubs at his eyes, yawning. It’s been a while since he had a chance to sleep in late.

It takes him a few seconds to really shake off sleep, and then he slides off the bed, reaching for a pair of boxers to tug on. He finds Jongin and Jongdae in the kitchen, bent over the stove. Jongin is frowning in determination over a pan, his tail swaying in slow loops. 

“Oh, no,” Jongdae flaps a hand at Minseok, trying to shoo him out of the room. His ears flatten against his head in irritation. “Get out of here. We’re not done!” Jongdae has hijacked Minseok’s apron, and it’s probably a good thing, since the two of them are covered in flour, head to toe. Jongin is worst off, even his soft ears coloured white with the stuff and a smear across his cheekbone. He’s never been able to cook without making a mess.

“Smells good,” Minseok comments. He’s kind of surprised to find it’s true. Jongin and Jongdae aren’t exactly disasters in the kitchen, but before they’d come to him, training in cooking wasn’t a priority. Most days, it’s Minseok who handles that end of things so this...this is nice. “What are you making?”

Jongin holds the pan out for Minseok to see. “Pancakes,” he says proudly. They don’t look half bad, Minseok’s pretty impressed.

“But you’re ruining everything,” Jongdae says. He carefully wiggles a spatula underneath Jongin’s pancake, tail still behind him as he focuses. “We can’t bring you breakfast in bed if you’re not _in bed_.” He hits Minseok with the back of his free hand. 

As Jongdae adds the last pancake to the pile, Jongin curls himself around Minseok’s shoulders. “Happy birthday,” Jongin says quietly, bumping his nose up against Minseok’s cheek. The height difference makes it a bit awkward, but Jongin’s never much minded that. He’s nice and warm against Minseok’s bare skin, tail brushing possessively against Minseok’s wrist. Jongin’s not very much of a feline - he likes to nap, it’s true, but he’s a bit shy and affectionate as anything. Minseok likes that about him. He likes the way that Jongin folds himself around him and presses his cheek against his.

“Thank you, baby,” Minseok says, reaching over his shoulder with one hand to stroke the back of Jongin’s neck.

“Enough,” Jongdae tells them, and he snaps a towel at the two of them. “Go back to bed so we can start your birthday right.” 

Rolling his eyes, Minseok lets Jongin steer them back to the bedroom and tuck him into the sheets. “How long have you guys been up?” Minseok asks.

“A while,” Jongin says. He climbs onto the end of the bed and folds his legs up underneath himself. “We’ve been planning this for weeks. We have all today planned out.”

The two of them have been secretive for a while, and Minseok assumed that they had something planned, but not a whole day. He can’t help but smile. “Everything?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jongdae says as he comes in. He’s carrying a plate piled high with pancakes, whipped cream, and berries, and grinning in a very self-satisfied way. It looks kind of amazing. Minseok hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until right now. “Everything. Are you doubting us?”

“Of course not,” Minseok says dryly, but he doesn’t push it. He wants those pancakes.

Jongin twists around to pull a little tray table out from underneath the bed and sets it up in Minseok’s lap. They really have figured out all the little details, and Minseok feels a rush of warmth as Jongdae settles the pancakes in front of him. “You always do it for us,” Jongin says, reaching out to steal a strawberry off the top of Minseok’s tower of pancakes. “Those waffles for my birthday were awesome.”

“So, we decided to to return the favour,” Jongdae says. He’s laid out next to Minseok, watching expectantly. “Well? Come on, you better eat those. I spent all morning slaving over a hot stove -” Jongin makes an outraged noise around more strawberries, ears flattening, and Jongdae holds up a hand in apology. “- and Jongin helped. A little.”

Minseok rolls his eyes. “I’m touched,” he says, only sort of sarcastically. The pancakes are really tasty, though. He widens his eyes and nods enthusiastically, taking forkful after forkful. Not a bad way to start the day, not bad at all. “It’s good,” he says through a mouthful of food, and Jongin beams. His lips are red from the berries, and there’s a smudge of whipped cream at the corner of his mouth, and Minseok laughs.

“Of course it is,” Jongdae says. He glances over at Jongin and crooks his finger at him. Jongin blinks at him, confused, so Jongdae goes to him, pretty much climbing into his lap and licking the whipped cream from his lips. Suddenly, Minseok’s hunger doesn’t seem so important.

“Hey,” he says. Jongin is nosing at Jongdae’s throat, sticky fingers curling into the front of Jongdae’s dirty apron. “Were the pancakes a trap? Tie me down with food while you two have fun?”

“Hyung,” Jongin laughs. Minseok is certain that when Jongdae licks very firmly across the corner of Jongin’s mouth and then at the back of his teeth, he’s definitely fucking with him. “It’s not a trap,” Jongin adds breathlessly.

Jongdae turns to look over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded in a way that makes Minseok’s breath catch in his throat. “It’s a show,” Jongdae tells him. He tugs at Jongin’s oversized sleep shirt, exposing bronzed collarbones. “Better finish your pancakes.”

He’s a bit tempted to argue just to be contrary, but then Jongin reaches out to scoop up a fingerful of whipped cream. Jongdae sucks his finger into his mouth, and both of them fix their eyes on Minseok, heavy enough to make him swallow. They sit back again, but now he can see their tails tangled together, and Jongin is nosing at Jongdae’s throat. Minseok can hear him purring from over here. Oh, he’s got a great day ahead of him. “Happy birthday to me,” Minseok says, and he gets to work on his breakfast.


	8. EXO, Kris/Kai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "how about they accidentally get locked in a bathroom together and ~magic~ happens."

There are a lot of good things about being in an idol group, but sharing a bathroom with eleven other dudes is definitely not one of them. Jongin got the short end of the stick tonight, and the last shower. It was lukewarm at best, and cold by the end, but at least he’s not sweaty anymore. That’s sort of a win.

There’s a knock on the door as he’s climbing out of the shower. “Yeah?” he calls, reaching for a towel. Most of the others have gone to bed by now, it’s late and none of them squander what little time they have to sleep. 

The door eases open as Jongin wraps the towel around his waist. “Sorry,” Yifan says. “I just wanted to uh, get everything done.” He waves a hand vaguely at his face, scrubbed clean. “You know, as soon as possible.”

Jongin likes seeing Yifan like this, without the makeup and without the designer clothes. He’s got his hair pushed out of his face with a hairband and his roots are visible, and he just looks softer, in his sweatpants and oversized shirt. “Yeah, sure,” Jongin says. It’s not like he’s got much left to do before he sleeps. All he needs to do is brush his teeth and then he can faceplant into his bed. It sounds pretty appealing right about now.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to tuck the end of his towel in so that it would stay hitched up around his hips, but he manages it and turns to brushing his teeth, elbows brushing up against Yifan’. If he weren’t so tired, he would be too aware of how little he’s wearing and how close to Yifan he is. It’s funny - Yifan is a big guy, the biggest out of all of them, but he’s never tried to take up a lot of space. He’s got a quiet, solid presence that Jongin has always appreciated. Jongin’s always been certain that if he reached out, Yifan would be there, and that means a lot to him.

Breath minty fresh, Jongin nods at Yifan, who is rubbing whatever cream it is into his face, and he gathers his things to head to bed. Thing is - the doorknob isn’t working. Maybe he’s just tired. He tries again, jostling it fruitlessly, but nothing works. “Huh,” he says. He turns the doorknob and it just keeps turning, around and around, and Jongin does his best to push down his mounting anxiety. He just wanted to go to _bed_. “Uh, hyung?”

Yifan looks up from where he’s just finishing up, patting something into his jawline. “Hmm?” His eyebrows crease at the slightly helpless look on Jongin’s face, and then narrow further when he sees the problem. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” It doesn’t really seem to cover the magnitude of the situation. They have practice tomorrow morning, and then a stage, and then a radio interview. He doesn’t have time to be locked in the bathroom. Jongin jerks at the door handle. “I’m not sleeping in the shower stall.”

“Hey.” Yifan’s hand lands on the back of Jongin’s neck, warm and heavy, and some of that tension leeches away. “Relax. No one’s going to make you sleep in the bathroom.” Jongin isn’t so certain of that. His phone is back in his room, and everyone most likely asleep by now. Would they even hear them from in here? Their walls aren’t _that_ thin. 

Yifan takes a few seconds to take a try himself and figure out that no, that door isn’t opening up. He turns to Jongin and offers him a smile. “You don’t have any secret lockpicking skills you’ve been keeping quiet, do you?” he asks.

“I wish,” Jongin grumbles. No, that’s Chanyeol’s forte. He hikes his towel up on his hips and wishes desperately that he’d brought his shirt into the bathroom. Then, if he had to be trapped in a small, damp room with Yifan, at least he wouldn’t be half naked.

“Well, fuck,” Yifan says.

The two of them share a long look. If they hammered on the door, they might be able to wake someone up, but then they’d have to live with the rest of their group laughing at them for getting stuck in such a...well. Suggestive situation. Jongin sits down on the toilet, hunching his shoulders, and Yifan slides down to the floor. “At least there are worse people to be stuck in here with,” Yifan smiles. “If you were Jongdae, I’d already be banging on the door.”

Jongin does his best not to think too hard about the stretch of Yifan’s shoulders under his old shirt, or the way his pale ankles stick out from his worn sweats. “If I were Jongdae, you never would’ve come in in the first place,” he points out. 

“You’re right,” Yifan agrees steadily, and Jongin swallows. He knows that look.

There have been a few times lately, where Jongin thinks...maybe. After their first win for Growl, Yifan had let Jongin grip his shirt on the van ride back, his face buried in his shoulder. No matter how overwhelming things are, Yifan is always there, steady and level-headed. And it was after the MAMAs, when the two of them had ended up sharing a room and Yifan had pulled Jongin into his arms. Jongin’s eyes had ached from the crying and he could feel Yifan’s breath, perilously close to his own mouth. He hadn’t said anything, just held him close, and Jongin’s heart had sped up, not slowed down.

And now this. Yifan doesn’t make a move, but Jongin can feel him waiting. He swallows hard. “Hyung?” he says hoarsely.

Yifan shifts on the tiled floor, his eyes intent on Jongin. “Should we shout?” he asks. “Yixing’s a pretty light sleeper.”

They should be sleeping too, but somehow, Jongin feels like they’re on the precipice of something. He knows that no matter how this moment goes, they’ll be fine, but - Jongin has always reached for what he wants. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he says, and though it’s barely more than a whisper, the words sound loud against the tiled walls.

Yifan doesn’t smile, not quite, but he rolls onto his knees and rests his big hands on Jongin’s thighs. It’s not like they’ve never touched before, but the weight of Yifan’s hands makes Jongin shiver. “Are you sure?” Yifan asks. 

There’s a risk to it, one that Jongin is sure that both of them are entirely aware of. But Jongin is tired and his muscles ache, and he’s so tired of having his space invaded and his privacy eroded. Can’t he have just this? After a second, he nods silently.

Yifan’s mouth is gentle in a way that Jongin should have expected, insistent and sweet. He can’t help the way that his lips part under Yifan’s, his eyes sliding shut as Yifan cups his face in his hands. He always knew that this was there, between them, but now that he’s kissing Yifan ( _finally_ kissing him), it hits him like a train. He’s almost giddy, kissing Yifan back with a fervour that makes him laugh, brushing his thumbs across Jongin’s cheekbones.

It’s too awkward, bending over to meet Yifan, so Jongin slides down into Yifan’s lap instead. Pressed up against Yifan like this, Jongin doesn’t feel the chill of the damp bathroom air anymore. He can feel the heat of Yifan’s body through the thin material of his pajamas, and he rests his hands on Yifan’s shoulders. Yifan is smiling up at him, easy, indulgent, and Jongin’s heart gives a leap in his ribcage. He always catches him

They kiss for a while longer, longer than they should, and Jongin’s towel hides absolutely nothing. Even as he’s blushing, though, hyper aware of the press of his cock against Yifan’s belly, Yifan is laughing again. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Yifan tells him, and he rolls his hips up, just a little. The friction makes Jongin gasp and his cock jerk. “It’s flattering.”

“I’m a teenager,” Jongin grumbles, and Yifan’s eyes slide away for a second. Jongin panics. Probably not the best thing to have said if he’s hoping that this will maybe go somewhere tonight.

“Don’t remind me,” Yifan groans. Jongin watches him carefully, still, waiting for a sign, and then Yifan is gently tugging his towel loose, and there isn’t anything clearer than that. “Is this okay?” Yifan asks. His concern seems laughable when he’s curling a hand around Jongin’s cock and stroking him slowly.

Jongin lets his head fall to Yifan’s shoulder. “No,” he says, and Yifan freezes, about to pull his hand away. Jongin lays his hand over Yifan’s and squeezes. “Tighter,” he says, nosing into Yifan’s throat as his breath hitches.

“Brat,” Yifan says fondly. But he obeys, jerking Jongin off, just the way he likes it, fast and a little rough. Jongin, he hasn’t - he hasn’t done this much. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he clings to the front of Yifan’s shirt and pants wetly into his shoulder. It feels so _good_ , even if it’s too dry, because it’s Yifan. 

He has to push Yifan’s hand away, because he’s embarrassingly close to coming. “I want -” Jongin’s breath hitches and Yifan settles his fingers on the back of his neck again. “I want more.” 

He lets Yifan nudge him up just enough that he can see his face again. “Are you sure?” They both flush at that. “I mean. You’re going to have to dance tomorrow.” 

Jongin thinks about that, about being able to feel the echo of what they did the next day, and he shudders in Yifan’s lap. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. He shifts, and he can feel the press of Yifan’s cock against his ass. He’s not the only one who’s enjoying this, and he is so, so glad. “I’m sure.”

It’s too crowded on the floor, and too hard on the knees, so they end up standing again. Yifan rests one hand flat against the small of Jongin’s back and stretches him open too carefully, too slowly. They don’t have much time, but no matter how much Jongin arches his back and pushes back, trying to fuck himself on Yifan’s thick fingers, Yifan refuses to rush.

It pays off when Yifan lines his cock up and pushes in, steady and inexorable. Jongin grips the sink, eyes squeezed shut, the breath knocked out of him. He’s only done this a handful of times before, and only ever with Taemin, but it’s different with Yifan. He’s taller, for one, and a lot more thoughtful, too. Each thrust is controlled, never hard enough to make Jongin bang his hips against the sink. Jongin presses his hand to his mouth, doing his best to choke back his moans every time the head of Yifan’s cock drags across his prostate. His cock jerks against his belly and he reaches down to stroke himself in time with Yifan’s thrusts. He’s not going to last long.

Yifan bends to mouth at the line of Jongin’s shoulder blade. “Don’t,” he mutters, wringing another choked off noise out of Jongin. There’s not a lot of finesse to the way that Yifan fucks into him, but he’s got good rhythm and he slides in deep enough to make Jongin want to sob with pleasure. “Don’t hold back.”

Jongin knows it’s probably more to do with how they need to figure out how to get out of this bathroom and go to bed before practice tomorrow, but the rough, low edge to Yifan’s voice still sends heat down his spine. It only takes a few more thrusts before he’s groaning Yifan’s name and spilling over his hand.

Yifan fucks him through it, one hand fixed against the back of Jongin’s neck, holding him in place. It’s almost too much, Jongin is too sensitive, but he likes the possessive grip of Yifan’s fingers and the way that he gasps when he comes, hot and hard.

Yeah, Jongin’s gonna feel it tomorrow. He’s feeling it right now. He grimaces when Yifan pulls out, and he should’ve expected the gentle, solicitous way that Yifan cleans them up. When he’s done, though, when Yifan’s pulled his boxers back on and given Jongin his pajamas, it’s as though neither of them have the right words anymore. “So,” Yifan says. “Are you okay? Are you -”

 _Seriously_? “Hyung, please,” Jongin groans, clapping a hand over Yifan’s mouth to stop him from talking. “Just -” Jongin’s never been good with explaining himself, and he finds it’s even harder when his knees are wobbly and he’s practically comatose post-fuck. He settles, instead, for kissing Yifan again, quick and sweet. When he pulls away, Yifan follows the movement, and Jongin snorts. He looks pretty dumb.

Before they have a chance to talk, to figure out exactly what they are, the door clicks and swings open. Chanyeol stands from where he’d been crouched in front of the doorknob, a shit-eating grin from ear to ear, and he’s flanked by Baekhyun and Jongdae. They all look unfairly pleased. “Thought we’d let you finish, first,” Chanyeol says. “Aren’t I nice?”

Jongin is sure he’s literally never been so embarrassed in his life. “Guys,” Yifan says in warning, but there’s no way they’ll hear the end of this any time soon. 

Luckily, in a rare display of self-control, they don’t tear into them immediately. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?” Chanyeol frowns. “I saved you having to sleep in the bathroom.”

Yifan glances at Jongin and then jerks his chin infinitesimally towards the door, telling him to go first. There’s no room right now for a real good night, for them to say anything, not in front of those three. Still, Yifan squeezes Jongin’s wrist briefly. “I’m pretty sure you’re the ones that locked us in here,” Yifan says dryly, and Jongin pushes his way out of the bathroom towards his own room. 

When he glances back over his shoulder, Yifan smiles at him, and Jongin shivers.


	9. EXO, Kai-centric, Kai/Kyungsoo, Kai/Yixing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sort of based on the prompt "we were on two different pages, going two different places" and also the lyrics for mr.mr's waiting for you but mostly just self-indulgence ft jongin and a puppy WHOOPS

It takes Jongin over a week after the breakup before he even wants to see anybody again. It’s exam season, so at least it’s not too out of place if he doesn’t shower and looks a wreck. He only leaves his room when he absolutely needs to, for classes or for food, and he ignores all the messages and texts he gets. He knows his friends mean well, but he just...can’t. 

He can’t fault Kyungsoo for his honesty. If nothing else, Jongin supposes, he can be grateful that Kyungsoo hadn’t drawn this out, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. “I can’t give you what you want,” he’d said gently, cupping Jongin’s cheek with one hand, and Jongin didn’t understand then and he still doesn’t now. Doesn’t Kyungsoo know that all he wants is _him_? Even now, when he’s fighting to hold himself together, that’s still true. Part of him is still holding out for Kyungsoo to come back, say he’s sorry, that he made a mistake.

Jongin knows he won’t. Kyungsoo doesn’t do things without certainty, and he’s never been cruel to him. If he was going to break up with Jongin, it’s because he thought it was best. And that hurts too, setting off a slow ache in his chest, because he hadn’t seen anything wrong. He’d thought everything was fine, and then all of a sudden it wasn’t, and now he’s alone in his room feeling like the entire world has shifted out from under him and he can’t find his feet.

On the seventh day, something finally breaks. He’s still miserable, true, and he’s not sure that’s going to let up any time soon. But he can’t just _sit_ here anymore, staring at the wall. His last exam was yesterday - he doesn’t even have anything to occupy himself with and he feels twitchy, restless, so he heads out for a run.

Instead of letting his mind wander, he puts in his ear buds, turns off his head, and just runs. It helps, a little. It’s not as good as dance, which requires concentration, precision, but the rhythm of it and the fact that he’s burning off some of his energy, it helps. He has to take a really roundabout route, avoiding the places that he and Kyungsoo used to frequent, and he nearly trips over his own feet when he sees a very familiar profile outside of a coffee shop. His heart stops but the man turns and it’s not him, it’s not Kyungsoo, but Jongin doesn’t have his heart in it anymore.

He’s got company waiting for him when he makes it back to his room. “You worried me, Jonginnie,” Lu Han chides. Jongin knows it must be bad because even Sehun looks concerned, eyeing Jongin warily when he should be making fun of him for being sweaty, or going out for a run in the winter like an idiot. “You worried all of us.”

“Sorry,” Jongin says. He avoids their eyes as he keys in his code, but he doesn’t fight it when they follow him in. 

It’s weird being around people after so long. His friends seem too noisy as they jostle around in his room, and they take up too much space. “I need to shower,” he mumbles, grabbing a towel and running to the bathroom for a quick escape.

He doesn’t waste any time climbing into the shower. He probably should’ve expected this to happen. He hasn’t turned on his phone in days, and it’s his own fault, really, worrying them. If he’d just said he was fine, he probably could’ve gotten out of this space invasion. The thing is, he’s not sure anymore if he really wants that. Feelings are stupid.

When he emerges again, Lu Han and Sehun are squabbling over a pot of ramyun on the floor and Yixing is sitting crosslegged on his bed. “I bet that feels better,” Yixing says, smiling up at him. He’s right, although Jongin doesn’t want to admit it. He pulls his shirt straight instead and puts away his wet towel, taking a seat next to Yixing on the bed.

“Food,” Sehun tells him through a mouthful of noodles, gesturing at the pot, and Lu Han punches him. That’s the first thing that makes Jongin crack a reluctant smile in days. There isn’t a lot better than seeing Sehun in pain. “What? I didn’t start eating until he got back, just like you said.”

Lu Han sniffs, and then he holds out a hand to Jongin, pulling him down so that he’s right in front of the pot. He ends up with his knee pressed against Lu Han’s companionably, and Yixing shifts forward until his legs bracket Jongin’s shoulders. Jongin’s always been particular about touch, he likes it better when he’s the one doing it, rather than being surprised by someone else. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been missing it until Sehun slaps his hand down against his knee. “Eat,” he says, and if Jongin didn’t know better, he’d think he sounds genuine. “I’m hungry.”

They don’t ask him if he’s okay, and Jongin is so, so grateful. Instead, Lu Han fills him in on the gossip he’s been missing, and Sehun complains about his history TA, a giant, touchy feely weirdo who is intent on making Sehun pass. It’s all so normal, but Jongin just feels a half-step out of place. He obediently opens his mouth when Lu Han holds out his chopsticks and listens to their chatter, but the best part is the warm press of Yixing’s knees and the way he strokes a hand through Jongin’s hair. Yixing’s always been pretty good at knowing what Jongin needs, and right now, he doesn’t need heart-to-hearts or long discussions about what he could’ve done wrong. He just wants this.

It’s dark by the time they leave, and Jongin feels full and warm. “Don’t do that again, okay?” Sehun says, staring at the ground like the lack of eye contact means that he can pretend he’s not showing emotions. Lu Han squeezes the breath out of him, already making plans to meet up on the weekend and sternly informing Jongin that he _will_ be in attendance. 

Yixing hugs him tightly and offers him a quick smile. “Don’t shut us out, alright?” he says. “You don’t have to be alone.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jongin says. 

He should be relieved when they’re gone, his room isn’t big enough for four people, anyway, but somehow, his room just feels empty again. Without the noise, the sadness seeps in again, cold and inexorable, but Jongin’s getting kind of used to it now. Maybe it’s not so bad now.

 

-

 

Turns out, that time heals all wounds thing has some ground in reality. It’s not that Jongin’s healing, really, but it feels like the sharp edges get a little more dull. Every time he lets Lu Han drag him out, he feels a little less precarious, a little less fragile, and it’s good. He hadn’t realized how much he’d let his world centre around Kyungsoo until suddenly his sun was gone, and he was spiralling aimlessly through space. He’s not sure how to gain his own gravitational pull, instead.

He still feels the loss, although a little less keenly, maybe. He thinks he’ll always miss Kyungsoo, always. Sometimes he finds himself looking through his closet for a sweater before he realizes that it’s gone, along with everything else that was Kyungsoo’s. His own things are still in a box in his closet, because he never wanted them back. Part of him wishes that Kyungsoo had kept them, because it would mean that he had wanted to keep a part of Jongin. It would mean that their relationship had meant as much to Kyungsoo as it had to Jongin. Too bad Kyungsoo was meticulous and thorough and now Jongin had a box full of clothes that didn’t fit him and gifts he never thought would be returned. It blows.

But it’s easier, when he’s with his friends. When Lu Han pushes a coffee into his hands and launches into a diatribe about his boss at the office, bemoaning being a real adult, Jongin thinks that maybe he can be a person again, one without Kyungsoo. It’s a bit like relearning how to walk, he thinks. It’s something so fundamental, knowing how to function on his own, but he feels like he’s forgotten it all.

His friends are good about it, too. They avoid Kyungsoo’s hangouts when they make plans, and they don’t ever invite them both to the same party. Jongin feels guilty for making them make the effort, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it. He’s not sure what he’d do if he saw Kyungsoo again.

He gets to find out a few weeks later. Yixing had asked him to come shopping with him, he was looking for a gift for his mother’s birthday, and Jongin had agreed without much thought. It’s when they walk out of the jewelry store that Jongin spots him. “Oh,” Jongin says quietly

Yixing walks forward a few more steps before he realizes Jongin has stopped, preoccupied with trying to find a secure way of storing away the little box he’d just bought. Out of the corner of his eye, Jongin can see Yixing spin around, looking for him. “Jonginnie?”

Kyungsoo is with someone, Byun Baekhyun, Jongin thinks, that sharp little vocal major he’d met a few times. He looks - well, he looks good. He looks fine, happy and laughing at something that Baekhyun says, and Jongin wonders for a second if he’s going to throw up. There’s a roaring in his ears, and Jongin thinks it’s absolutely unfair that he should still be such a mess and Kyungsoo looks so good.

He jerks wildly when Yixing hesitantly touches his arm. “Jongin-ah?” Yixing says. “Are you alright?”

No. He’s not sure when he ever will be, again. “I want to go home,” Jongin says, his voice coming out small and shaky. 

He sees it when Yixing spots Kyungsoo, across the street, the way his eyes harden for just a second before he curls an arm around Jongin’s waist. “Alright,” he says without hesitation. It’s not that Jongin needed the help walking, really, but Yixing’s arm chases away some of that nausea. “Let’s go home.”

On the busride home, Jongin tips his head to rest on Yixing’s narrow shoulder. “Thanks, hyung,” he says quietly. He knows that Yixing had other shopping he wanted to do, things he wanted to get done, but he hadn’t even given it a second thought. “I’m sorry.”

Yixing presses his cheek to the top of Jongin’s head. Like this, the height difference isn’t so clear. “No apologies,” Yixing says firmly. “It’s fine.”

Jongin is a mess right now. His emotions are everywhere and he’s sure he’s not just complicating his own life, but the lives of all his friends. But Yixing has never made him feel guilty for it. “Thanks,” he says again. Yixing nods against his head, but doesn’t say anything else. 

They don’t speak for the rest of the ride, and Jongin just closes his eyes. He can’t stop remembering Kyungsoo’s laughter and his smile, directed at someone else. It’s just not fair.

 

-

 

The box that Yixing is holding is big and brightly coloured, a large red bow on the top. “It’s a bit late for Christmas, hyung,” Jongin says cautiously, but Yixing just smiles at him.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Open it.”

A few more weeks on, and Jongin still feels unsteady. Now, it just feels like he’s not allowed to be. After all, Kyungsoo has recovered, right? Can Jongin really justify still being so upset? So he tries really hard. He pretends not to flinch when people bring Kyungsoo up, he smiles extra wide when Sehun calls him on spacing out. He hopes it’s all enough.

He reaches out to grab the box, but Yixing stills his hands before he can shake it. “Please don’t,” he says. “Just open it!”

Inside the box is the tiniest puppy Jongin has ever seen. It’s so small, it would barely fit in both of his hands, brown and fluffy. Jongin is instantly entranced. “Oh,” he says. It weighs next to nothing when he lifts it from the box, and it trembles in his hands, blinking up at him with enormous eyes. He is in love. 

Yixing laughs softly as Jongin lifts the puppy to his chest, holding it close. He feels the cold press of its little nose against his throat, followed by the hesitant wet swipe of its tongue. “I know you miss your dogs at home,” Yixing says, and Jongin glances up at him again, curling his fingers around the puppy’s head. It’s so little and warm, and Yixing’s eyes on him are gentle. “And with everything - I just thought she would help.”

The puppy shifts in his palm, pressing one tiny paw against the hollow of Jongin’s throat. “Hyung,” he says, though he doesn’t know what he means to say. What can he even say right now? It’s funny, because Yixing can be spacey and forgetful, he loses his phone twice a week and misses the punchline, but sometimes he can be so uncannily perceptive. Jongin strokes his thumb across the puppy’s head and looks at him. “This is…”

It’s a lot. It’s too much, but it’s everything he needed. “You’ll have to give her a name,” Yixing says, and he smiles again, dimpling. 

A dog - it’s perfect. There is no fast cure to a breakup, no magical present that can cure the hollow ache in Jongin’s chest, but this puppy, nosing curiously at his fingertips, it was exactly what he needed. And Yixing knew. Jongin fumbles with his words, bending to press his cheek against the puppy’s head while he tries to sort them out in his head. “Hyung, this is amazing,” he says finally. He doesn’t know how to verbalize it, how grateful he is that Yixing knew what he needed.

Yixing shakes his head. “No,” he says. “But I’m glad you like her. You must promise to look after her, alright?” He points a finger at Jongin, mock-stern, but his face is all soft affection.

Impulsively, Jongin pulls Yixing into a tight hug, the puppy held safe, just out of the way. “Promise,” he says, and Yixing curls a hand around the back of his neck, fingertips scratching against the hair there. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never do,” Yixing says, and Jongin feels a surge of warmth in his gut. When Yixing steps away, he scratches one thin finger under the puppy’s chin. “What will you name her?”

It’s a good question. He thinks for a moment, watching the puppy nip at Yixing’s fingertip. “Monggah,” he decides. He tilts his head down to look at the puppy. “What do you think?” he asks the puppy. She blinks at him for a second, then licks his cheek. “She likes it,” he tells Yixing.

“Monggah,” Yixing says. He repeats it a few times, trying to get the Korean syllables right. “It’s a good name.”

“Yes,” Jongin agrees. 

When he grins at Yixing, it’s broad and uninhibited, and it’s the happiest he’s felt in months. Monggah shifts her tiny little body in his hands, squirming around and pawing at his chest, and his heart feels so _light_. 

“This is the best present I’ve ever gotten,” he says honestly, and Yixing’s answering smile is pleased and wide and Jongin feels just a little bit more whole.


	10. EXO, Kai/Kyungsoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "where kyungsoo is new rookie astronaut , and jongin is an engineer at the space station"

His first centrifuge run is...rough. When Kyungsoo stumbles out of the machine, he does his best to walk in a straight line. “Don’t worry,” the technician says, slapping him on the back harder than is probably necessary and sending him spinning towards the garbage can to lose his lunch. “Everyone pukes on their first run. It’s practically a rite of passage.” It’s not so comforting, especially when Kyungsoo catches the smirk the technician throws at his partner. Kyungsoo’s head is spinning and his stomach somewhere in his throat, and their expressions are humiliating.

It had taken years of study and training before he’d ever even gotten here, and Kyungsoo had still thrown up like a kid at the fair. It’s embarrassing. He needs to do better. “You’ll do better next time, cupcake,” the technician tells him, and Kyungsoo has a sudden, fleeting urge to punch the stupid, cat-like grin off his face. He abandons the idea almost as soon as it had come - it won’t help him get any better with high-g training, and he’s not sure he can aim properly right now anyway.

He ends up planted on a couch in the next room, waiting for the rotations in his head to slow down. It gives him plenty of time to dwell on his vomit-laced letdown, of course. He knows logically that it’s not really a failure, that it’s just a matter of getting his body acclimatized to the treatment, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling angry at himself. Kyungsoo is not fond of doing poorly at the things he wants to do. 

“First test with the centrifuge?” The voice belongs to a young man, an engineer from the looks of what he’s wearing. He’s handsome, thick dark hair falling into his eyes, and he’s got a mug of something in one of his hands.

“Yes,” Kyungsoo snaps at him, and the man looks taken aback. It’s probably a bit unfair of him to take it out on a total stranger, but Kyungsoo’s suffering is not a show. These technicians, they must not have a lot of fun here if they find this kind of thing fun. “If you came to laugh, you missed the fun. I’m done throwing up.”

Kyungsoo fixes his eyes pointedly on a spot on the wall beside the man’s head, rather than his face, but that doesn’t mean he misses the hurt on his face, or the way he shifts on his feet. “Oh,” the engineer says. “Uh, okay?” He hesitates, and then sets the mug in his hands down on the table in front of Kyungsoo. “Peppermint tea. Good for an upset stomach.” 

Ah. Whoops. The man slips out of the room, and Kyungsoo stares down at the steaming mug in front of him. He feels a bit guilty, but mostly he still just feels sick. He doesn’t think that he was adequately prepared for how much this job would make him want to throw up, and it’s not just the centrifuge.

By the time Kyungsoo has finished his tea, his stomach has settled enough for him to feel at least a little remorse at being so rude in the face of a stranger’s kindness. Only a little.

 

-

 

Training goes on. Kyungsoo resolutely straps himself into that centrifuge as often as his trainers will allow until the nausea (and the infuriating technician) become more tolerable. The first time he makes it out without stumbling, he can’t help but feel pretty smug and pleased. He pops a mint into his mouth and then flicks one at Jongdae’s head. “Not bad,” Jongdae says, begrudgingly. He narrows his eyes. “Unless you just threw up in your mouth.” He squints. “Did you throw up in your mouth?”

Kyungsoo levels his best dead-eyed stare at him. “Hysterical,” he says. Jongdae throws his head back and laughs.

He runs into someone on his way out the door - someone tall, with that same, familiar thick hair. “Sorry,” he says.

The man’s face shuts down when he sees who he’s collided with, and that rankles Kyungsoo a little. It also makes the man look very, very young. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles.

Kyungsoo has spent most of his formative years studying and training to get here. He’s never wanted anything but to be an astronaut, to reach for the stars, but it’s left him with an unfortunate lack of social skills. He’s never much cared for social interactions anyway, and he’s not very good with friends or any of that, but he knows that he was rude, and it was uncalled for. “No,” he offers, before the man can slip away again. “I’m sorry, too, about before.” 

It’s funny, but just that is enough to have the engineer thawing, the wariness easing from his eyes. “Yeah?” he says.

“I don’t think anyone is in a good mood after they’ve just thrown up,” he says. “But the tea helped. So, thank you.”

The smile the man offers him is sunshine bright and genuine. “I’m glad,” he says. “You looked pretty green and I know that has to suck, so.” After a second, he bends in a quick bow. “Kim Jongin.”

“Do Kyungsoo,” he replies. It’s been a while, he thinks, since someone’s reached out to him like this. No motive or anything. “Nice to meet you.” 

Jongin’s smile gets wider.


	11. EXO, Chanyeol/Kyungsoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "so much of me wants someone to write adult chanyeol with a son and a puppy or something"
> 
> clearly i can't read

This isn’t exactly the life that Chanyeol had expected for himself.

It’s a cold day, and Chanyeol jiggles his leg, trying to keep warm. Out in front of him, Sara and Pumpkin aren’t really having the same problem. Sara laughs, cheeks pink, and raises one hand to throw a ball as far as she possibly can. It’s not all that far. “That’s my girl,” Chanyeol calls, grinning, because she definitely inherited that lack of athletic ability from him. Pumpkin doesn’t mind much, either. He dives through the snow, moving as quickly as his little legs will take him. Kyungsoo says he’s unhealthy, as fat as he is, but Chanyeol thinks that’s dumb. He’s just extra prepared for the winter, that’s all.

Chanyeol watches as fat little Pumpkin tumbles into the snow and roots around for the ball, coming up covered in white and triumphant. Pumpkin may not be very bright, or very fast for that matter, but he is pretty determined. Chanyeol admires that about him. He bounds back to Sara, charging into her legs and sending her toppling backwards. She lets out a little shriek and Chanyeol straightens, craning his neck until she sits up again, laughing as Pumpkin licks her face.

When Chanyeol had thought about his future, this wasn’t it. He’d figured his adulthood would involve at _very_ least a decade of irresponsible fun. Isn’t that the whole point of being an adult? Finally getting out of the house so you can party all night, sleep all day, and live on cereal and ramyun? But then in university, he’d met Jinri. They’d spent a year together, split amicably, but then nine months later, Chanyeol had Sara.

It’d been the right choice. Chanyeol skated through university by the skin of his teeth, acing the classes he was interested in and sleeping through the rest. By contrast, Jinri was ambitious, driven. She had a plan, a promising career in design, and it didn’t make sense for her to put everything on pause.

It’d been...weird. That was for sure. Chanyeol’s never been much good at looking after himself sometimes, much less a tiny person, and it’d been a rough adjustment. A lot of long, sleepless nights, a lot of desperate phonecalls to his mom, and he’d pretty much made it all up as he went along, but, well. He thinks he’s getting the hang of it now. “Daddy, look!” Sara demands. She’s kneeling in the snow now, red mittens bright against the white of the snowball she’s shaping. “ _Look_ , daddy. I’m making a snowman!”

She gets that from him too, he thinks. Pumpkin sniffs curiously at what she’s doing and loses interest, instead heading off to hunt down his ball again. A hand lands on Chanyeol’s shoulder and he looks up, smiling. “Shouldn’t you be out there with her?” Kyungsoo asks. He slides onto the bench next to him. “I remember that morning in second year when you were so strung out on energy drinks and lack of sleep during exams that you decided the best way to study psychology involved some really creepy snowmen.”

Hah. That was a good time. What Chanyeol remembers of it, at least. “I’m not prepared,” Chanyeol says, gesturing down at his clothes. His sweater makes him look very dashing, he thinks, but is probably not the best for playing in the snow.

“ _Daddy_ ,” Sara snaps. She’s got her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re not _looking_.”

Kyungsoo throws Chanyeol a look, one that says _where have I heard that before?_ and then smiles at Sara. “Your daddy’s an idiot,” he tells her. “That’s a nice snowman you’ve got there.”

Sara huffs. “I _know_ ,” she says, bottom lip pushing out in a pout. 

Chanyeol thinks it’s criminal that his six year old has him this wrapped around her little finger. “You’re awful,” he tells Kyungsoo, who only shrugs a shoulder. “Turning my own daughter against me.” He pushes his coffee back at Kyungsoo and presses a kiss against his temple. Time to go to work.

Ten minutes later, his hands are pretty much numb, his pants are soaked to the knees, and he’s got water dripping down his back from where Sara shoved snow down his collar, but their snowman is _bitchin’_. “Good work, baby,” Chanyeol says, ruffling Sara’s hair. Pumpkin has long since lost interest in what they’re doing, curling up at Kyungsoo’s feet by the bench instead in the hopes of getting a snack. He’s barking up the wrong tree, Kyungsoo will never fold. “A real work of art.”

They didn’t have a carrot for his nose, so they had to use stones for all his features, but he still thinks he turned out pretty good. “Thanks,” Sara says. She’s tired now, spent all morning running around with Pumpkin and now she’s ready for a break. She sits down in the snow next to Chanyeol and leans her head against his shoulder. 

“Hard workers deserve a reward,” Chanyeol decides, and Sara looks up at him, half suspicious and half hopeful. “Hot chocolate?”

Sara grins at him, and her smile is pure Jinri. “I like you the best,” she decides. She climbs to her feet and pulls at his hands until he follows, groaning and exclaiming like an old man. It’s exaggerated but wow, his knees are gonna kill in a few hours. He’s getting too old for this shit. 

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says. Her mittens are wet and her fingers are cold underneath them, so he takes a second to rub her hands between his, warm them up. “That means a lot to me,” he tells her solemnly. She rolls her eyes and scoffs at him, like she’s embarrassed. She’s _six_ , she’s not old enough to be embarrassed of him yet. That’s supposed to wait until her teenage years.

Kyungsoo is clipping the leash onto Pumpkin when they approach. “C’mon, Uncle Kyungsoo,” Sara says excitedly. “Daddy’s getting us hot chocolate.”

The affectionate curve of Kyungsoo’s mouth sets off a flood of warmth in Chanyeol’s chest. “I guess he’s not so bad,” he says. Pumpkin pulls at the leash, sniffing eagerly at the snow. 

“Maybe,” Sara agrees. She looks up at Chanyeol mischievously, her little hand tight in his. 

“I’ll take a maybe,” Chanyeol says.

Yeah, it’s not what he’d imagined a couple of years ago, that’s for sure. If someone had told him that in seven years, he’d be settled down with a kid and a little dog, Chanyeol would have probably laughed them out of the room. Doesn’t seem so bad from this side of things, that’s for sure.


	12. EXO, Kai/Tao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "catboy!tao and puppyboy!kai run away from the store that owns them, explore the outside world for a bit, hide from the rain and make out"

Zitao has never liked the rain, and right now, Jongin is pretty sure he hates it. They’d gotten caught in the downpour right as the sun was heading down, and now the two of them are huddled in a doorway, waiting for a break in the rain. It doesn’t look too hopeful. Zitao shivers, thin sweater plastered to his body and his dark, pointed ears soaked and pressed flat against his head. “This was a dumb idea,” he mutters, pushing futilely at his wet bangs, which are hanging in his eyes. The shelter is too far away for them to make a run for it now, especially with the way it’s coming down. 

“No,” Jongin argues, shaking his head. He still has the taste of ice cream on his tongue, something he hasn’t had in years, and even if he’s just as wet as Zitao is, he doesn’t think today is a complete loss. Jongin’s been at the shelter for years, and Zitao’s been there for almost as long. Every adoptee reaches a point where they stop being cute and start becoming troublesome, and the two of them kinda ran past that point a long time ago. It’s not a bad place to live, the shelter, but there isn’t a ton of room for extras like ice cream, or runs in the park. “No, I had fun,” Jongin says.

“I’m _cold_ ,” Zitao whines. He’s not kidding, either, his lips are almost blue, and despite his long arms wrapped around his chest, he’s still shaking. Joonmyun had eyed the two of them as they’d slipped through the door in the morning, warning Zitao that he’d be cold, and he should at least take an extra sweater, but they’d ignored him. They only had a short window to escape, and they needed to take it. 

It’s easier for Jongin. He’s always been warmer-blooded, and water doesn’t bother him nearly as much. “Come here,” he says softly. He’d offer Zitao his sweater, but the two of them are equally soaked. Instead, he slides his arms around Zitao’s waist, tucking his nose into the wet curve of Zitao’s throat. Zitao clings to him, pushing his wet hands under the hem of Jongin’s shirt and pressing them against his skin. He squirms close, trying to flatten his body against Jongin’s. “Thank you for buying me ice cream,” Jongin mumbles.

Zitao hums against Jongin’s hair. Whoever said cats and dogs can’t get along never met the two of them, Jongin thinks. Zitao noses against against Jongin’s soft ear. “I’m still cold,” he grumbles. “And wet.” He lashes his tail in irritation, and then hisses when the tip of it gets caught in the rain, burrowing closer against Jongin’s chest.

Jongin knows why Zitao had planned this outing. Between Jongin’s futile attempts to find a job and his tasks around the shelter, he hasn’t really been outside in a really long time. Maybe he hadn’t been as good as he’d thought he’d been about covering up his upset. “Yeah, but still.” He prods a finger against Zitao’s ribs. “Thank you.”

“That’s not a thank you,” Zitao chides him, and he butts his head against Jongin’s until he tips his mouth up and kisses him. Zitao kisses the same way he does everything, fiercely, affectionately. He nips at Jongin’s lip and immediately soothes it with a swipe of his tongue. Jongin probably should’ve thought of this earlier - there’s no better way to warm Zitao up and distract him at the same time than by kissing. 

He lets Zitao pin him against the doorframe, hoping faintly that the dark will cover them. It’s easy to forget the cold and the wet when Zitao pulls at his hair, licking at the back of his teeth, setting off a slow burn in his ribcage. “Easy!” Jongin laughs, pushing at his shoulder, but Zitao just grins, closing his teeth on the tip of Jongin’s nose for a second and pins him harder. 

Jongin ends up with his tail pinned uncomfortably against the wall and he yelps. It sounds loud in the empty street and Jongin clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Are you okay?” Zitao asks quietly, the corners of his mouth pulling up. He lets Jongin up for a second, swiping a hand down his back to free his tail.

It sends a quick jolt of heat down Jongin’s spine and then they’re both laughing, Zitao’s hands fisted in the front of Jongin’s damp shirt. Zitao isn’t shivering anymore, and Jongin likes that. He leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of Zitao’s lips, and Zitao lets out a tiny noise, brushing his nose against Jongin’s.

“Oh, look,” he says. “It’s stopped raining.” He pulls away, and Jongin feels the cold night air against his skin. “Come on.”

Jongin lets Zitao pull at his wrist, but he drags his feet. “We’re going back?” he asks. It’s not that he doesn’t like the shelter, and he doesn’t know where else they could go, but - “Already?”

Zitao tips his head, and for a second, he looks purely feline. “Shower, Jongin,” he says, raising one eyebrow. Oh. _Oh_. “I’ll take you out again. Promise.”

Good enough for him. “Okay,” Jongin agrees, and Zitao smiles at him, pleased. “If you promise.” 

He chases Zitao down the street, their feet splashing in puddles as they race home.


	13. EXO, Kai/Chanyeol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "chankai :3 playfighting and being dumb competitive boys"

Okay, so Jongin may or may not have started it. 

“Gross,” Chanyeol says, wrinkling up his nose. “Dude, get your feet out of my face.” 

They’re taking full advantage of having the day off - the minor blessings of not having to actively promote their newest track include occasionally being able to sleep in and now one entire day off of their own. It feels kind of weird, not having somewhere to be at the crack of dawn and Jongin’s legs itch with restlessness, used to too much activity and not enough downtime. Naturally, he’s kicked them up into Chanyeol’s lap while he reads. More comfortable that way. “They’re not in your face,” Jongin says, and he digs a heel into Chanyeol’s thigh for emphasis.

“Close enough,” Chanyeol says. The sweatshirt he’s wearing is more worn than usual, but Jongin likes seeing him without makeup. It gives them common ground. His hair’s a mess too, sticking up all over the place, and Jongin has the urge to rub a hand over it, see if he can get it really staticky and then shock Chanyeol. He’s not sure how it works but he thinks he could do it.

“No,” Jongin says. He raises one foot and wiggles his toes in Chanyeol’s face. “Now they are, though.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting Chanyeol to do, but it probably wasn’t ‘throw him off the couch’. Jongin hits the floor with a thump, groaning when his head bounces off the floor and his knee bangs against the coffee table. “It was just a joke,” he gasps, and then Chanyeol jumps on top of him. 

Jongin has a second to wonder if he’ll be able to find the page he was on in his manga before Chanyeol is digging his fingers into his sides and tickling him mercilessly. “I’ll show you a joke,” Chanyeol growls, and Jongin shrieks, trying to push his hands away. He hates that Chanyeol knows all his weak spots, fingertips skating up his ribs to his armpits until Jongin is paralyzed. “Not so funny, huh?” he says.

“Help!” Jongin calls out, even though he’s pretty sure the dorm is empty right now (except for Sehun, who’s never been any help anyway). Chanyeol just tickles him more, his weight settled against Jongin’s waist, holding him down. Not that he’d tell anyone, but Jongin kinda likes the way he’s got him pinned, anyway. It’s pretty nice. 

“No help for you,” Chanyeol scowls, but he’s made a fatal mistake - his face is too close to Jongin’s. Jongin takes advantage of this, stretches up to catch Chanyeol’s mouth in a quick kiss. See, Chanyeol knows all of Jongin’s soft spots, knows just how to make him helpless with laughter, but Jongin knows how to make him melt. And melt he does, hands stilling against Jongin’s ribs as he leans into it. 

Jongin likes Chanyeol’s mouth, he likes the way that he kisses, eager and a shade too hard. He always presses himself flat against Jongin’s chest, molding himself up against Jongin’s body and sliding one hand into Jongin’s hair. He likes the intimacy of it, and Jongin doesn’t much mind that either, pressing a hand up against Chanyeol’s belly and sighing into his mouth. This is better than the tickling. So much better.

“I don’t want help,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol laughs, his nose brushing up against Jongin’s cheek. 

They both let out decidedly unmanly shrieks when Sehun speaks. “Disgusting,” he declares, staring down at them, his lip curling. “Absolutely disgusting.”

Jongin should probably be less pleased with how Chanyeol doesn’t shift his grip from Jongin’s waist, staring defiantly up at Sehun. “No one asked you,” he says. His mouth looks so nice like that, wet and slick and well-kissed. Jongin wants to kiss him again. And again.

Sehun levels his best disdainful look at them. It’s only kind of effective because his hair is sticking up from sleep and there are still creases across his face from his pillow. “I heard shouting, I thought lives were in danger. But no, it’s just the two of you, grossing up our living room.” He narrows his eyes. “We all _sit_ in here.”

“On the floor?” Chanyeol asks, at the same time Jongin says, “we were just _kissing_ , you prick.”

Sehun clicks his tongue. “ _Gross_ ,” he says again. He points a finger at them. “Get a room already.”

It’s not a bad idea, really. Even with the interruption, Jongin can feel the half hard press of Chanyeol’s cock against his stomach. Sweatpants don’t really cover up much. “We’re in a room,” Chanyeol points out. “This is a room.”

Sehun glares down at them, and then suddenly grins wickedly. “I wonder what Kyungsoo hyung will have to say when he finds out about this,” he says, all nonchalance.

 _Shit_. Chanyeol scrambles off of Jongin and then pulls him up. “You don’t have to do anything drastic,” Jongin whines, but Sehun is already not listening again, waving a hand vaguely in their direction as he heads back to his own room. 

“Bed?” Chanyeol asks. He still has his hand around Jongin’s wrist, thumb rubbing against the tendons there.

“Yeah, okay,” Jongin agrees, and he grins. He makes a mental note to be as noisy as humanly possible. Sehun’s such a little shithead.


	14. EXO, Kris/Kai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> further continuation of arranged marriage au

This is not proper behavior for a king, and Zitao likes to let them both know this by sulking by the doorway and scoffing at Jongin’s teaching methods, but Jongin lives for this. “Keep that foot back,” he cautions Yifan, lifting his practice sword once more. “You must present yourself as a smaller target.”

“Yes, sir,” Yifan grins at him, earning another outraged click of Zitao’s tongue. Yifan’s long hair is falling from its tie, but he only spares a second to push it away before he straightens, correcting to Jongin’s instruction. This is Yifan at his most casual, the robes of his station abandoned for the more practical pants and shirt. Perhaps he looks less king like, but Jongin prefers this Yifan. After all, this is _his_ Yifan, is it not?

It has been only a few months since they have married, and Yifan seems to have even less time than before, but it matters less when it’s Jongin’s bed he returns to. It is a funny kind of intimacy, learning to share a bed with someone you are only getting to know, but it gets easier every day. Jongin has learned that Yifan is no more a fan of mornings than he is, and he fusses over his appearance for ages before he leaves their room. He has also learned the warmth of his long body during cold nights, and Yifan’s weakness for handholding. Jongin has never met anybody who can make him feel so physically small, and he relishes it.

And still, between Yifan’s myriad council meetings and diplomatic obligations, he makes time for Jongin and his lessons. It means the world to Jongin. There is not much for him to do here, really. Yifan is the busy one, and while Jongin is required to stand at his side during appearances and never embarrass him, but he spends a great deal of time simply filling his hours. Jongin is many things but sedentary is not one of them. Instead, he and Minseok spend a great deal of time on weapons training. It is good - Jongin likes the physicality of it, the familiarity. It feels _useful_ \- like he is accomplishing something. 

And sometimes, he can get very close to Yifan, too. “Hands up,” Jongin says. “Ready yourself.” 

“I am ready!” Yifan laughs. Jongin would argue that Yifan has never been ready - his stance is messy and he still is not as used to the weight of a sword as he should be - but it is no matter. Yifan will never be a champion swordsman anyway.

“Are you certain?” Jongin asks. Yifan’s hands dip just for a second, his expression exasperated, and Jongin uses the opening, leaping forward. Their swords collide with a noisy clang, and Yifan staggers back a few steps. “You do not look so prepared.” 

What Yifan lacks in skill, he makes up in strength. He is not graceful, but he has learned quickly, and he meets Jongin’s blows each time. “You cheat,” Yifan accuses, no heat in his voice. 

He lunges towards Jongin, scoring a tap across Jongin’s shoulder before Jongin pushes him back once more. It will bruise, and Jongin feels a surge of pride. Yifan is getting better. 

“You say I cheat, and yet you have scored a point,” Jongin says, tipping his head. He slides back out of Yifan’s reach, then twists, landing his own blow across Yifan’s ribs. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Zitao shift uneasily. “I merely surprised you. Look to your own game, your Majesty.” The words are pointed - Jongin knows that Yifan hates it when he calls him by title when they are alone.

Yifan’s lips quirk up in a crooked smile. Jongin is expecting some kind of retaliation but it certainly is not Yifan wrapping one broad hand around his practice sword and jerking him in close. Jongin has been training with weaponry since he was young, and if he wanted, he could pull free. He does not, though. He lets Yifan pull his sword away, and it clatters to the ground, along with Yifan’s. “I thought we were practicing,” Jongin says.

Long fingers press gently against Jongin’s shoulder for a second, checking to make sure there’s no wound, and then Yifan tugs Jongin forward. “Is this not practice?” he asks. Jongin pushes at his shoulders half-heartedly, pressing the heel of his hand gently against Yifan’s solar plexus in the ghost of a defense move. “It feels like practice to me.”

Kissing Yifan is familiar now, but that does not mean that it is any less exciting. Sometimes Jongin thinks about how lucky he is. Not only to have been married to a King, but to have found himself in an arranged marriage with a man he is learning to care for, and someone who cares for him. Yifan knows by now that Jongin loves to be caged in by him, loves it when Yifan cups his face in his hands and kisses him until they are both breathless, and he takes advantage now. 

“Your Majesty,” Zitao hisses, scandalized. When Yifan finally pulls away, Zitao is shielding his eyes with one hand. “Must you? Here?”

“Do you want to watch?” Yifan says, and Zitao looks like he might vomit in his mouth. 

At Zitao’s side, Minseok snorts. “I think you might want to bathe before your meeting, your Majesty,” he says. Jongin wrinkles his nose at him, and Minseok shrugs an apology. “It is rather soon.”

“Never enough time,” Yifan sighs. He strokes a hand through Jongin’s hair and finally steps away. “You had better keep up with your practice,” he tells Jongin. “Someday, I might win.” 

“I doubt it.” His grin is bright when he leaves the room, and Jongin’s matches it. He never thought he could be this happy here.


	15. Infinite/Misc, Hoya/Seo Inguk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "AU where they are cast in an action movie together."

When Howon meets Inguk he’s, well, certainly not what he was expecting. 

Howon ends up nearly half an hour early for the first table read, thanks to traffic and his manager’s insistence that he make a good first impression, but Inguk beat him there. He’s already settled down at the table, talking brightly with one of the PDs. Howon doesn’t know much about his new costar, just that he’d won some kind of reality show and now they’re both starring in a movie where they’re going to have to drive very fast cars. Howon hopes that Inguk can drive.

Inguk introduces himself with an enthusiastic bow and an unexpected handshake, and Howon does his best not to be too aware of the difference in size between the two of them. Inguk’s hand swallows his, grip firm. “Howon-ssi, it’s so nice to meet you!” Inguk says. “I hope we will work well together.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Howon replies. He can’t quite decide if he thinks that Inguk is handsome, but he is tall and well-built, and there’s something very earnest about the way that he smiles at Howon. He seems nice enough. “I’m sure we’ll do well.”

The rest of the cast filters in, and they take their seats. Howon recognizes Eunji, further down the table, and she waves at him. It’s nice to have at least one familiar face. He’s worked a lot of television, but this is Howon’s first film, and there’s a certain amount of pressure that comes with that. He’s proven himself able to draw in viewers on a weekly basis, but this is definitely not on the same scale.

He’s not the only nervous one. Next to him, Inguk pulls at the cuffs of his thick sweater. Howon doesn’t blame him. Before he’d done his research on this project, Howon, well, he hadn’t really heard of Inguk before. He’s put out a couple of Japanese singles and played a handful of bit parts on some popular dramas, but that’s about it. He gets why Inguk’s sitting too straight, hands clenching against his knees.

Once introductions are made, they settle down to run through the script for the first time. Inguk’s elbow bumps into Howon’s, and Howon wants to laugh at the face that Inguk makes, head bobbing in apology. He settles for smiling instead. He’s never met anyone who is this big and this unsure. It’s an interesting combination, and one he’s going to spend the next eight months with. That’ll be something.

 

-

 

It’s hard not to get to know someone when you spend a lot of your day stuck in a car with them. Howon’s no stranger to long days, but even he burns out after thirteen hours. Inguk, on the other hand, never seems to lose his positivity. They can be running through their seventeenth take of the same shot, sitting in the same car they’ve been sitting in since noon, but Inguk is always ready to go. It should be irritating, but Howon mostly finds it kind of impressive. Plus, Howon is pretty sure that Inguk’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel isn’t just acting. 

But maybe that’s just guessing. Hours on set mean that now Howon knows that Inguk is slavishly to his workout and never hesitates to volunteer to pick up coffee for everyone, but he still keeps to himself a little. It’s funny, because they might sit together during their lunch breaks but it’s always Inguk asking the questions, leaning in close and staring at Howon attentively. It’s kind of weird, but also flattering, so Howon lets it slide. 

Still, Inguk is on his own. It’s easier for Howon - he’s not the friendliest guy, but he knows Eunji, and Eunji, naturally, has already befriended everyone in the cast and most of the crew too. Inguk is kind of flying blind.

When the director finally calls cut, and Howon climbs out of the car and stretches his legs, he watches Inguk diligently thank the crew and staff for their time. “Hey,” Inguk says, finally coming back to Howon. He still has fake dirt streaked across his cheekbone and his jaw, and Howon thinks it makes him look significantly tougher. “Good work today.” He fidgets with his water bottle as they make their way down the hall to get out of their stage clothes and offers Howon a bright, hopeful smile. “Are you doing anything after this? Maybe we could grab a drink?”

“Ah, sorry,” Howon says, and he is genuinely regretful. “I’ve got plans with Eunji.” They’ve got a late shoot tomorrow, so they had decided to take advantage and head out for a night on the town. 

Inguk droops at the reply, though he recovers quickly enough. “Ah, of course,” he says. 

Howon presses his lips together and turns to the sink, diligently scrubbing stage dirt off his face. It’s been a few weeks, and Inguk has never joined in on their cast get-togethers. In the mirror, he watches Inguk frown down as his hands as he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. “Why don’t you come with us?” he suggests. It’s not as though it’s a date, after all (he and Eunji had come close, once, but that’d ended after one embarrassing make out session and one soiled pair of jeans, and Howon doesn’t like to think about it). 

Inguk freezes, his shirt half open, and Howon pointedly does not look at the smooth planes of his chest (wow, that is...wow. Wow). “Is that cool?” Inguk asks. “I mean…”

“Of course,” Howon rolls his eyes, smiling. “It’s a bunch of the cast going. You’re more than welcome.”

Inguk’s entire face creases up in a smile. “Yeah, sure, I mean, that sounds awesome.”

Wiping the water off his face, Howon laughs. “Tell me that again tomorrow morning,” he cautions.

They leave te set together and Howon isn’t really expecting the long arm Inguk slings around his shoulders. It’s a bit too familiar, Howon thinks, but this is the first time that he’s seen Inguk look so happy and relaxed. It makes him feel kinda short, but he’ll let it slide.

 

-

 

It turns out that Inguk is a pretty awesome singer. He’s also got a ridiculous tolerance for alcohol. Howon is wobbling in his seat, fingers in a death grip around his drink, and yet Inguk just beams at him, unharmed. “How are you doing this?” Howon asks suspiciously. He’s pretty sure he’s still one beer down on Inguk, but it’s Inguk who steadies him. “Black magic.”

Inguk laughs at him. “Years of practice,” he says sagely. For once, Howon remembers that Inguk is older than him, by a good couple of years. It’s an easy thing to forget, when Inguk is so eager to please and makes himself so small. “Don’t feel too bad about it.”

He can see the way that Inguk’s eyes wander out into the club, to where Eunji is coaxing their assistant director into dancing with her. The little man is flushed and drunk and doing his very best to keep up with her, but, well. Points for enthusiasm, maybe. “Well,” Howon says. “Are you drunk enough to get out there with them yet?”

Howon has never seen that mischievous tilt to Inguk’s eyes. “Only if you come with me,” he insists. “I mean, unless you’re scared? Afraid to put yourself out there?”

Howon thinks that’s pretty unfair, considering he’s drunk himself unsteady. Good thing he’s an _amazing_ dancer. Inguk will never know what hit him. “Please,” he says. “I’m not afraid of anything.” He’s also really terrible at turning down a dare, but that’s irrelevant. The alcohol in his blood is making this seem like a pretty good idea. So is the sheen of sweat across Inguk’s collarbones, exposed by a couple of popped buttons.

“I’m sure,” Inguk says, and that’s it. Howon slides off his seat and heads resolutely into the crowd. He’s a good dancer, and he knows it, but, well. If he stands next to their assistant director, he’ll look even better in comparison. That never hurts. He turns to look over his shoulder and Inguk is already there, drawn like he couldn’t help himself, grinning, his eyes fixed on Howon. He hopes he never looks away.

 

-

 

The sun is setting, and Inguk rests one big palm against the hood of the car, staring out at the horizon. He looks pensive, eyes dark, a streak of blood against his hairline where shattered glass has caught him. Howon watches him, waiting. And waiting. The silence stretches beyond pensive straight into awkward and then Howon _knows_ that Inguk has forgotten his line. His face is out of the shot, so when Inguk turns to face him, he pulls a face, one so heinous that Inguk breaks, folding to press his forehead against the roof of the car as he laughs and laughs and laughs. Howon is pretty sure he likes him best like this, smiling so widely.

“Cut!” the director calls. 

Inguk twists, reaching out and grabbing Howon’s shoulders and shaking him. It somehow ends with Inguk squeezing him tightly, trapping Howon in the circle of his arms and rocking him back and forth. By now, Howon has learned that trying to escape Inguk’s clutches never goes well - Howon is strong but Inguk is stronger and backed by an impressive level of will. He always likes to be touching Howon, hands on his biceps, knees, back. It can be kind of overwhelming, but in a good way, like a puppy. They’re kinda slobbery but they’re also pretty cute, so you forgive them.

“You know, you two are supposed to mistrust each other right now,” Joonmyun says from behind them.

“He forgot his line,” Howon accuses, and Inguk digs his fingers into his ribs. 

“And _he_ made a face,” Inguk retorts. On the other side of the car, Eunji has her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking helplessly with laughter.

Joonmyun stares at the two of them, his expression one of fond long suffering. “And that all matters, I’m sure,” he sighs. He fixes them with a pointed look until Inguk peels himself away, straightening his shoulders and clearing his throat. “Are you done?” he asks.

As ever, Howon is impressed at the speed with which Inguk composes his expression, going from grinning Inguk to serious, angst-ridden Wonil in a second. “I’m sorry,” he says, bowing. Howon mirrors the gesture, shooting Inguk a little look out of the corner of his eyes, and suddenly, they’re both grinning again.

“One more shot,” Joonmyun begs, taking his cap off to run a hand through his hair and then putting it on again. “Just give us one good shot. Then you can go.”

“You can count on us,” Howon tells him. They are professionals, after all. Eunji snorts.

“Alright,” the director says. “Places!” Inguk takes a step back, fixes his hand on the roof of the car again, and his face settles into a thoughtful mask once more. “And - action!”

Howon raises his chin and looks over at Inguk. This time, when Inguk turns to say his line, Howon still grins, and Joonmyun’s going to get them for needing yet another shot. But that’s okay, because the light in Inguk’s eyes, that’s all for Howon, and it always has been. He likes it that way.


	16. EXO, Baekhyun/Kyungsoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's a cold december and kyungsoo wants baekhyun to warm him up."

It’s getting pretty cold by the time Kyungsoo makes it back to their apartment, and snowy too. He stomps in the front hall and shivers with his whole body, shaking snow off his shoulders and trying to warm himself up. He can see the red of his nose and ears in the hall mirror and he frowns at them. “It’s freezing,” he announces, sliding out of his puffy coat as he toes off his shoes.

“Then put on a sweater,” Baekhyun calls. He looks pretty cozy in his nest of blankets on the couch, and he doesn’t look away from the drama he’s watching. 

Kyungsoo would be miffed, but he’s fairly used to it at this point. Besides, Baekhyun deserves it. Finals week had been long and hard on both of them, and since Baekhyun is not only showered but wearing something new, something that is not pajamas, Kyungsoo thinks he can give him a pass. But only this once. “I am wearing a sweater,” he points out.

He stands at the doorway and rubs his hands together, trying to regain feeling in his fingertips, but Baekhyun still doesn’t look up. Kyungsoo purses his lips, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s a little bit disappointing, really. Between finals and Kyungsoo’s tutoring gig, the two of them haven’t really seen each other in a good couple of weeks. He doesn’t think sleeping counts, really, especially not when Baekhyun has already passed out by the time Kyungsoo gets in bed. Also he drools.

So, it would’ve been nice to have gotten a warm welcome when he came home. Literally, too. He curls a hand around one of his ears, but they’re still cold to the touch. Ouch.

Kyungsoo sets about making himself some tea. No better way to warm up, after all. “Can you make me a cup too?” Baekhyun says from the couch. He bends his head back over the couch and flashes his best winsome grin at Kyungsoo before turning back to the TV.

“Of course,” Kyungsoo replies, his voice laden with as much disdain and distaste as he can muster. 

In front of the television, he can see Baekhyun wave a hand. “Thanks, baby,” he says.

Kyungsoo clicks his tongue. He’s too tired for Baekhyun’s games tonight. He spent most of his evening with a sweet freshman who’s desperate to pass his chemistry finals and it means he’s spent enough of his day puzzling out mysteries that he has no taste for it when he gets home. He stares at the kettle and he sighs. 

Once it’s boiled, Kyungsoo pours them each a mug and heads to the couch. Baekhyun only sticks his arms out from underneath his blanket to make grabby hands at his tea, and then he curls up with it, eyes fixed on the TV. It must be a good one, Kyungsoo thinks. He vaguely recognizes the actor on screen, but he’s never paid much attention to Baekhyun’s shows. At least the couch is more comfortable than the library chair he’s been in all day, and his tea is hot, warming him up from the inside out. 

Kyungsoo is nodding off when the credits roll, so he’s not expecting the way that Baekhyun curls into his side and sighs. “That’s the fourth episode I’ve watched today,” Baekhyun confesses, and Kyungsoo can see the edges of his grin from where he’s got his face buried in Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “I’m nearly caught up now. I couldn’t tear myself away.” 

The weight of his body is warm and familiar against Kyungsoo’s and he really should’ve known that a marathon session was what was making Baekhyun so single-minded about this. “Let me guess,” he says. “Just one more?”

“Two,” Baekhyun corrects. “I’ve missed _so_ much while I was studying.” He’s being flippant, but Kyungsoo knows he kind of means it. School has never really come easily to Baekhyun, and every grade he gets is earned through hours upon hours of diligent study. They’re in their last year and Baekhyun has worked even harder. Even now, when Baekhyun’s last exam is two days behind him, he still has the traces of dark circles beneath his eyes.

Kyungsoo sighs. “Well,” he says. “What are you waiting for? Put it on already. The sooner these things are over, the sooner you can get to bed.”

Baekhyun laughs, flicking on the next episode. “I think you mean we,” he corrects Kyungsoo, shifting to settle his head in Kyungsoo’s lap. “You’re not going anywhere, you know.”

Kyungsoo’s got another tutoring session in the morning and it’s already late, but it’s hard to argue when Baekhyun pushes his cheek against Kyungsoo’s thigh and turns intently back to the TV. This is the longest time they’ve spent together in weeks. Well, Kyungsoo thinks, settling his hand on the back of Baekhyun’s neck, his thumb rubbing against the soft hair there. Maybe he can nap sitting up.

He exhales in a rush and Baekhyun punches him in the knee. “Quiet,” he warns. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

Serenely, Kyungsoo slides his hand up higher and tugs at Baekhyun’s hair, hard. He smiles when Baekhyun squawks. He’s missed this.


	17. M.I.B, gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "M.I.B GOES TO IKEA"

“We’ve lost Jongsu,” Yasuo announces. He doesn’t seem too concerned, though, leaning on the cart as they make their way down the lighting aisle. He prods at a lamp with a strange shade, and Hangil waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. They’re both still a little hungover at this point, and Hangil has decided to use this as the excuse for why they thought it would be a great idea to talk their manager into a field trip to IKEA. He scratches a hand across his scalp, still a bit achey from a recent dye job, and yawns. It’s too early for this shit.

Yasuo turns to face him, some heinously ugly lamp in his hand, and his eyebrows furrow, eyes searching over Hangil’s shoulder. “And Giseok,” he adds. He squints down the aisle. “Should we...do...something…?”

Hangil grunts. Jongsu is one thing - kid’s younger than the rest of them but he’s probably got more sense than all of them put together. If it was just Jongsu, they wouldn’t have to worry. They could spend hours making the full tour of this giant place and at the end they’d find him eating swedish meatballs or playing in the ball pit with the rest of the kids. He’s fine. Giseok? Not so much. Hangil’s fairly certain he couldn’t navigate his way out of a paper bag, and by the time he looks up from his phone and realizes he’s wanders off, well. Hangil has this vivid image of Giseok camped out on a couch in a showcase room, taking sad little near-identical selcas every five minutes and sending them off to all of them with SOS messages.

Hangil looks over at Yasuo, and he can see his eyebrows raise over the top of his giant glasses. “Yeah,” Hangil says slowly. He carefully takes the lamp out of Yasuo’s hands and puts it away, since they’re supposed to be looking for a new couch, not something that Hangil is fairly certain will give him nightmares. “Probably.” What Hangil _really_ wants to do is find a nice display mattress and take a nap, but their manager would take poorly to them losing half the group. They’re supposed to be the hyungs or whatever. “Or we can just cut them loose, and I can do all of their lines. What do you say?” Sounds like less effort. Now anyway.

“No,” Yasuo says immediately, his lip curling in disgust. “Please, God, let’s never do that.” They head further down the aisle and Yasuo casually ditches their cart in the middle of an intersection. “It’s hard enough carrying your dead weight with other people to help,” he sniffs. Hangil has half a mind to abandon him too, to leave them all behind, debut solo or at least eat IKEA meatballs, but Yasuo is reaching for his arm and pulling him back towards the showcases.

“I’m offended,” Hangil says. Yasuo just hums, gripping him tighter. “Offended,” he says again, with emphasis this time, but Yasuo purses his pretty lips and the fight leaves Hangil. He can be the bigger man, let Yasuo think that he’s in charge. He is older, right? Theoretically, that should make him responsible.

Theoretically. Yasuo gets distracted before they’ve even managed to backtrack on aisle, squinting at a shelving unit. “Yah,” Hangil laughs, and when Yasuo turns to look at him, Hangil spreads his hands. “Weren’t we doing something?” 

“Ah, yes,” Yasuo says. He snaps his fingers at Hangil. “Did you bring your phone? Mine’s dead.” Hangil doesn’t immediately reply and clearly that was not the answer Yasuo was looking for. He waves his hand under Hangil’s nose until a phone magically finds its way there. “Thank you.”

“Sure, hyung.” 

Hangil hooks his chin on Yasuo’s shoulder as he opens up his line account, and as expected, he’s got four messages from Giseok, looking forlorn. There are also shots of the showcase he’s sitting in, and a pair of school girls peeking out from around a shelving unit at him. “It’s like Where’s Waldo,” Yasuo says fondly. “Except instead of lots of guys in striped shirts, it’s Giseok’s selca face.”

“Does this one count?” Hangil asks. “I think he’s showing an emotion here.”

Yasuo laughs, and it sounds loud even in the bustle of the noisy store. “I think I know where he is. He’s sent us plenty of clues.” He grips Hangil’s arm again, and off they go. 

They find Giseok, as expected, huddled in a mock-up of a teenagers room, bent over his phone. “There you are,” he says, grumpy. “I’m getting hungry.”

“It must be exhausting, all that texting,” Hangil says seriously. He doesn’t dodge the half-hearted punch Giseok sends his way, but he’s got tiny little arms so it’s not that big a deal. “How old are you again?”

“Shut up,” Giseok grumbles, his eyes darting over to the school-age girls. They’re clutching at each other, eyes wide, and aw. They must be fans. Giseok has always been the most concerned with his image. It’s adorable that he thinks it matters. “Hyung, stop.”

Yasuo and Hangil exchange a look, and then they descend on Giseok. Hangil ruffles his hair so hard that Giseok’s chin knocks against his chest, and Yasuo grabs a hefty pinch of his cheek, the two of them cooing over Giseok. “I’m going to kill you both,” Giseok hisses, his eyes murderous. Yasuo tweaks his nose.

At least their aggressive coddling spurs Giseok into action, and they wind their way through the massive IKEA, but there’s no sign of Jongsu and he’s ignoring his texts. “What is the point of a cell phone if you don’t answer it?” Yasuo scowls, shoving Hangil’s phone into his pocket as they make their way through kitchen goods. 

Giseok is doing his level best to pretend he doesn’t know them, while they do their best to humiliate him. Yasuo is delighting in playing the obnoxious housewife, and he’s uncannily good at it. “Giseokie, what do you think of these spoons?” Yasuo calls, sugar sweet, and Hangil nearly chokes laughing at Giseok’s miserable expression.

They find Jongsu near the exit, finishing off a plate of meatballs. “Took you guys long enough,” Jongsu says amicably. He swings his heels against the box he’s sitting on. “Find a couch?”

“Crisis averted,” Hangil says, and Yasuo raises his arms in victory. “We won’t have to figure out how to tell the fans that we lost the kids.” Yasuo grabs Hangil’s hands too and holds them up in the air. He wrestles one free to press his palm against his heart. “And my solo career had _such_ promise.”

Jongsu grew up fast in the group, and he doesn’t really look his age, except when he laughs the way he’s laughing at Hangil now. “Okay, hyung,” he says. “ _Sure_.”

For the first time this afternoon, Hangil’s phone rings. It’s their manager. “I love this song,” Yasuo says, and his mouth quirks up. He jerks his chin at a line up of carts near them, and oh yeah, Hangil knows where this is going.

With a whoop, Hangil throws himself at the nearest one. It rocks forward, nearly tipping, but he catches himself and then he’s off, skating down the hallway. Yasuo isn’t far behind, laughing loudly enough that Hangil can pretend he doesn’t hear the horrified voice of the IKEA staff member, begging them to stop.

When they make it to the front of the store, their manager is waiting, watching them approach with a resigned expression. Hangil grins, skidding to a stop in front of him. “Sorry!” he says cheerfully. Yasuo collides with him, his cart spinning out and hitting a wall. “We didn’t find anything.”

Giseok and Jongsu bring up the rear, and their manager rubs at his temples and sighs. Yasuo throws an arm around Hangil’s shoulders as they head out of the building. Hey, maybe not so bad a morning after all.


	18. Block B, U-Kwon/Jun Sunhye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> au based on block b's be the light mv and heavily featuring u-kwon's irl gf, model jun sunhye!!

Half-awake, Yukwon rolls over, his face bumping messily up against Sunhye’s shoulder. That wakes him up for real. He props himself up on one elbow, blinking down at her. She’s got creases on her face from the pillow, and she looks softer without her makeup. It’s - well, it’s kind of weird, but in a good way. Sunhye never spends the night. Never. So he’s never really seen her like this, really unguarded and relaxed. Her mouth is a little bit open, and she’s totally drooling. He laughs quietly.

That pulls her out of sleep, too, nose scrunching as her eyes slide open, taking a second to focus. “Hey,” she grumbles, slapping the back of her hand against his shoulder. “Are you watching me sleep? Creep.” A smile spreads across her lips and he catches her wrist in his hand, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “Good morning.”

Yukwon could get used to this. “Good morning, noona.” He leans in to kiss her for real and she squeaks, shoving him away. 

“Morning breath,” Sunhye warns and he groans, flopping back in bed. It’s a small price to pay, though. He’s never had a lazy morning with her, and he kind of likes it. Not that he’d ever tell the rest of the guys, they already give him enough shit for dating her. He doesn’t mind much, really. It _is_ kind of strange, the two of them, but in a really good way. He met her one night, the two of them waiting at the same bus stop. Sunhye was all long legs and really expensive shoes, and Yukwon had been a little bit smitten as soon as he saw her. She laughed when he tripped getting onto the bus, and he’d introduced himself, and things had gone from there.

For the first few weeks they were dating, Sunhye never mentioned her family. She never talked about her home, or her school, and any time that Yukwon tried to steer the conversation that way, she shut him down. There were some clues, though. She came out with them one night, and Jaehyo’s girlfriend of the moment had nearly choked on her tongue when she’d seen Sunhye’s purse. “Doesn’t that cost a fortune?” she’d gasped, stroking a hand down the strap, and that was the first time Yukwon had seen Sunhye uncomfortable, flushing and avoiding his eyes.

He’d only truly understood the extent of it a few months later when some middle-aged man had stopped her on the street. It was weird, seeing the way she had suddenly straightened, a mask settling over her face as she’d greeted him graciously. He was a friend of her fathers, it seemed, a very important man, and when she’d taken a step away from Yukwon, not bothering to introduce him, that had hurt. It was nothing on the icy shock Yukwon had felt when the man mentioned, in passing, her father’s position. As CEO of the largest bank in South Korea. 

Sunhye had stiffened at that, glancing at Yukwon. It made sense. The way that she’d never wanted him to meet any of her friends, how she’d steadfastly avoided bringing him to any of her haunts. Yukwon didn’t doubt the fact that he must not meet the usual standards of her regular life. He didn’t really think that the guys he runs with qualify as a gang, but he wasn’t sure that her father would really value the difference. Or the four year age difference. Or that he had a job, since he wasn’t in college and the job he did have was a low-level serving gig at his uncle’s restaurant. Wow.

Sunhye had bowed once more at the man and they’d continued on their way, but Yukwon had felt pretty shell-shocked. “I’m sorry,” she’d said, as soon as she could be sure that the man wouldn’t overhear them. “It’s just - ”

“Daddy wouldn’t approve?” Yukwon had snarled. It was harsher than he’d meant, but he was reeling. He _liked_ Sunhye. Thing was, now he wasn’t sure that she liked him or what he was, what he represented. He’s been someone’s petty rebellion before. Wasn’t a good feeling, that was for sure. “That’s how you like it, right, noona?”

Sunhye’s eyes had darkened. “No, you ass,” she’d snapped. “But he wouldn’t understand.” She’d pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly. “You don’t - the last three guys I dated, my dad introduced us. They spent more time trying to lick his ass than even get to know me.” Tears had welled in her eyes but they didn’t fall. “You are not going to make me feel guilty for this, Yukwon. You like _me_ , and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t want that to end.”

Yukwon’s words had dried up in his throat. He’d stared at her, wordless, for long enough that she’d laughed, voice harsh and bitter, and shaken her head. “Silly me, huh?” she’d said, and she’d turned and marched off, head high.

He’s spent the rest of the day sitting on a park bench, smoking a cigarette and staring at his feet. It’d taken him nearly a week to sort himself out, to call Sunhye and beg forgiveness. And beg he had, locked in the bathroom where Zico, his roommate, couldn’t hear him, forehead pressed against the door. “I’m an idiot,” he’d told her.

“Yeah,” she’d agreed. But he could hear her smile. “But I think you’re mine.”

Yukwon had closed his eyes and pressed a hand to the peeling paint of his bathroom door. “I love you,” he’d said, and her breath had hitched. “I mean it.”

“Definitely mine,” she’d replied.

And he still is, now, when she laughs and rolls on top of him, pressing her lips to the hinge of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the shell of his ear. Yes, Yukwon definitely likes morning Sunhye, sleepy and playful, even if she won’t let him kiss her. “We’ve never had a sleepover before,” he says.

“Dad’s in Japan for the weekend,” she says. She squirms around until she’s comfortable, half sprawled across his chest, her thigh between his, head tucked underneath his chin. “No one to ask nosy questions.”

It’s a little sad that Sunhye is a grown woman and yet she still has to sneak around behind her father’s back. Yukwon thinks about saying something, but he knows it won’t do anything, so he bites his tongue. “Works for me,” Yukwon says.

It takes him ten minutes to work up the drive to climb out of bed and brush his teeth, but it’s not his fault that his bed is comfortable and Sunhye’s hands and mouth make such a compelling argument to stay. They also make a really compelling argument for brushing his teeth too, though, so eventually he hauls his ass up.

When he gets back from the bathroom, Sunhye is sitting up, the sheets pooled around her waist and her phone pressed to her ear. “We had a few drinks, Dad, I just thought it would be easier if I stayed the night.” She sighs, glancing up at Yukwon and making a face. “You _know_ Jihyun. It was just one night.”

So much for their lazy Sunday morning in bed. He hikes his boxers up on his hip and sits down heavily next to her, and she turns to press her cheek to his shoulder. “Dad, it’s fine. I’ll be home soon. We decided to get breakfast.” Yukwon can hear her father’s voice over the line, rumbly and authoritative. “I’ll see you soon.”

She lets her phone fall into her lap and exhales in a rush, groaning. “Spoke too soon,” she says. He pets a hand through her hair and she shifts, her phone sliding off the mattress as the sheets hit the floor. “Well, better make use of the rest of the morning, right?” she says, lips quirking up. She straddles his hips, pushing him down with a forceful press of her hand.

Yukwon grins up at her. “Yes, noona,” he says obediently, and she rewards him by bending down to kiss him, deep and hard.

 

-

 

He’s really not expecting it when it all goes wrong. One minute he’s got his fingers around Sunhye’s wrist, leaning close to kiss her (not too much, though, she doesn’t want to ruin her lipstick). The next, he’s on the ground, pain shooting up the back of his skull from where it’d collided with the pavement. He gasps, staring up, blinking to clear his head. A massive man stares him down, flanked by three more, and Yukwon swallows hard. “What the hell is this?” Sunhye demands. “What are you doing?”

Yukwon pulls himself up slowly, exploring the back of his head with his fingers. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, but he’ll probably have one hell of a goose egg in a couple of hours. It’s not that important right now. What is important is the way those four men are eyeing them. He can’t think of what he could’ve done to provoke this - he and his crew have scuffled with other groups in the past, but nothing in a while. Did he do something when he was drunk? Not important. He puts himself between Sunhye and the men, even if he knows he won’t be able to do a whole lot of good against all four. “What do you want?” he asks.

“Mr. Jun thinks that it’s time for this to end,” the first man says, and Yukwon goes cold. “Enough playing around with this kid.”

Sunhye barks out a laugh. “Are you serious?” she says. “I am an adult, I will date whoever I want to.” She looks furious, something he’s familiar with, but also scared, and that’s not an expression he’s ever seen before.

The man shakes his head. “I’m just following orders,” he says. He steps forward, too close, and looks down. “I’ve been told to make it real easy for you to decide.”

“This is absolute bullshit,” Sunhye says, crossing her arms and fixing the men with her best disdainful stare.

Even if Yukwon hadn’t been able to put together what the man meant by his tone, he doesn’t get a chance to think about it before the man throws a punch. It’s teeth rattlingly hard, sending Yukwon stumbling all over again. Dimly, he can hear Sunhye screaming, and a distant part of him takes a certain amount of pride in her rage. 

It’s drowned out when the man lands a kick to his gut that sends him sprawling. He slams into the ground, sobbing for breath. This isn’t like any of the fights Yukwon has ever been in - this is clinical, precise. Each blow is calculated not to get him to surrender, but to _hurt_. And it’s working. He tastes blood on his teeth and his hands are raw from where they’ve scraped against the pavement. “Fuck,” he gasps, and the man kicks him in the ribs again. And again, and again, and again, until Yukwon feels something snap and he screams, curling in on himself.

Through the haze and the pain, Yukwon can see Sunhye, fighting, slamming her hands against the man’s shoulders, stomping on his toes. “I’ll go, I’ll go, just _stop_ ,” she cries, angry tears welling in her eyes. “For God’s sake, _enough_!”

The man steps away, eyeing her, and then he nods. “I think he gets the picture,” he agrees, and for a second, Yukwon doesn’t understand. All he knows is the burning pain in his chest and the ache in his skull. “Come on.”

“Sunhye,” Yukwon says, and she grits her teeth and shakes her head. She’s always been practical, he thinks and he wheezes, pressing his fingers to his ribs desperately, like he can hold them straight.

“If I go,” Sunhye says, and her voice wavers, but stays firm. “If I go, you leave him alone. No more of this.”

The big man is impassive. “You’ll have to talk to Mr. Jun,” he says. 

Yukwon watches through blurry eyes as Sunhye turns. She’s doing that thing again, where she straightens her shoulders and becomes Miss Jun Sunhye once more, dutiful heir and daughter. “Fine,” she says. She glances down at Yukwon and her mouth twists. She mouths the words _I love you_ , and then she’s following the men away. 

No matter how he fights, Yukwon can’t make himself sit up. Hot tears prickle at the corner of his eyes and his ribs scream at him, but all he can do is watch. He feels dizzy for so many reasons.

He doesn’t know how long it is until they find him. “Look at you,” Kyung says, reaching for him. Yukwon stares at his stupid short pants and ugly socks as Kyung hoists him up. “Dude, you got your ass kicked.”

“You should see the other guy?” Yukwon tries, but it’s not easy to feign nonchalance with a mouthful of blood. The ache in his ribs has subsided, but as Kyung shifts him up, it awakens, sharp and horrible. Someone slides under his other arm, and he knows it’s Minhyuk, his arm familiar and firm around Yukwon’s waist. 

“Who did this?” Zico asks. Yukwon has known Zico for years, seen him go from goofy high schooler who drinks too much and likes girl group dances to who he is today - still a bit goofy, sometimes, but focused, ambitious, determined. The way that he stares at Yukwon right now is so level and serious that Yukwon is certain that Zico would do whatever Yukwon asked for right now.

But they’re just a bunch of guys who do okay in a fight. Sunhye’s father is no one to fuck with. Yukwon shakes his head. “Don’t bother,” he says. “Guy runs a bank.” Taeil is exploring the damage to his ribs with careful hands, pressing down with his thumbs and nodding to himself every time Yukwon gasps. “It - it’s fine. It’s whatever.” It’s not whatever. The throbbing pain in Yukwon’s broken ribs is nothing on the ache in his chest. He should’ve known that this would end, a guy like him can’t date the heiress of a man like Jun forever. Still, even if it feels a little bit inevitable, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.

He sees the glance that passes between Minhyuk and Zico. “Doesn’t look like whatever,” Zico says, head tipped. 

“Looks like two broken ribs,” Taeil announces. “Maybe three.”

“Can I just go home?” Yukwon sighs. He kind of just wants to sleep for the next year. Maybe two.

Zico shrugs. “Yeah, alright,” he says, patting the back of Yukwon’s neck. “You good to walk?”

“Sure.” It’s not his ankles that hurt, thankfully enough. He’s just lucky that Mr. Jun isn’t in the mob, because he could’ve been dealing with broken feet, or worse.

At another nod from Zico, Minhyuk shifts Yukwon’s weight onto his shoulder and they shuffle forward. “You know,” Jaehyo says thoughtfully, “I would’ve thought I would be the first one to get their ass kicked for a girl.”

“Your time will come,” Minhyuk says dryly, and Jaehyo squawks in protest. Yukwon turns it all out, too aware of the blood on the back of his teeth and the throb in his chest, but mostly the empty spot in his ribcage.

 

-

 

“I’m meeting with one of my father’s proteges tonight,” Sunhye says. Her voice sounds muted over the phone - dull and resigned. “He’s agreed that as long as we never speak again, he’ll leave you alone.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Yukwon asks. He feels petulant, but he means it. He doesn’t _want_ to let her go. What right does her father have to make these decisions for her?

“Yukwon,” Sunhye sighs. She’s always been so practical, he thinks miserably. “You know this is how it has to be. I can’t - I won’t let him do that to you again. I _can’t_.” She falls silent for a second, then continues. “You don’t get it. Next time, it’d be worse. My father is...very determined. Please, baby. Just do this for me.”

He presses his hands against his eyes, hot tears prickling at the back of his eyelids. “You had to use the big guns,” he says weakly. 

“I love you,” she says, and though her voice is small, he memorizes this - the surety of her words, how it feels in his chest to hear it. “Please, just let me know that you will be okay.”

“I love you too,” Yukwon whispers. He knows it’s the last time he’ll hear her say it. It’s all so fucking _unfair_

When she hangs up, he sits on the bathroom floor, still and empty. He only jerks to attention when Zico opens the door. He squats in front of Yukwon, a rubber clown mask in his hands. “Hey,” he says, surprisingly gently. “What would you say if I told you I had a plan?”

Yukwon stares at Zico’s hands for a long second. Zico’s got a lot of plans, and all of them are reckless and kind of terrifying. But Zico is loyal, and most of them work. “Let me hear it,” he says, and Zico grins.


	19. EXO, Kris/Yixing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "fanxing, anything goes but supernatural (NOT THE TV SHOW) elements would be gr9."
> 
> it's a supernatural (tv) au. you're welcome.

“An asylum.” Yixing raises his eyebrows in interest, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. He cleans his pistol with methodical familiarity, the movements so ingrained in muscle memory that he barely even has to watch his hands. “Sounds like our kind of fun.” 

In Kris’ ear, Soryong laughs. “You know, that’s just what I thought.”

It’s been a while since Kris and Yixing have seen the Jung twins, but they’re good guys. They’d worked a couple of cases with them down in Texas, one in Florida, and one really memorable one up in Chicago too, and that’d turned out pretty well. Now they pass info, trading tips on cases. Like this one. A guy had made a quick jaunt into an abandoned asylum and come out raring for a murder/suicide twofer. It was only the latest in a series of deaths going back years and years. “Since you guys were in the area, we thought maybe you’d wanna check it out.”

Kris is pretty used to walking into places that look like something straight out of a horror movie set, but he’s pretty sure that an abandoned asylum probably takes the cake. “Yeah,” he says anyway, and he can see the grin spread on Yixing’s face. He’s always been able to read Kris like a book. It’s a bit of a nuisance. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Yixing snaps the last piece of his pistol back into place with a satisfying click, and then he looks up at Kris. “I’ll forward you everything we’ve got,” Soryong says. Kris can hear the clatter of laptop keys over the phone line. “It’s not a lot, but I think it’s pretty straightforward.”

“Salt and burn?” Kris says. 

“Salt and burn,” Soryong agrees. “Good luck, guys. Catch you at the Roadhouse.”

“Thanks, man.” When Kris turns back to Yixing, he’s already surfing through his emails on his phone, humming. He has a wicked grin on his face. “What?” Kris says.

Yixing tucks his pistol back into his bag. “Another ghost,” he says gleefully. “ _And_ an asylum.” It’s a low blow. Kris has known Yixing for years, the two of them pretty much grew up together. It means that Yixing has so much ammo stored up, and he doesn’t hesitate to use it against Kris. Unfair.

“I’m not afraid,” Kris insists. And he’s not, not _really_. He just doesn’t like them. At all. He doesn’t trust anything he can stick his arm through

Yixing hooks his fingers in the pocket of Kris’ hoodie and tugs him down. “You’re in the wrong business,” he says fondly, kissing Kris’ cheek. 

And yeah, maybe Yixing is right. But his father had insisted that at least one of them take up the family business, and Kris couldn’t let it be Zitao. Zitao was never cut out for this business, he got too invested. Of course, maybe Kris did too, but he was the oldest, and he was nothing if not responsible. “I am an ace hunter,” he says instead, and Yixing laughs, patting Kris’ cheek.

“Sure,” he says amiably. “Sure.” He tips his head, glancing down at his phone again. “Rockford is only a few hours away. I bet we could make it before lunch.”

“I get it, I get it,” Kris says. “Back to work.” 

Yixing’s got Kris’ hand in both of his, toying with his fingers, an automatic soothing reflex. “The sooner we handle it, the less time we have to spend in the spooky asylum with the scary ghosts,” he says. It’s early yet, and Yixing is still half-asleep, hair hanging in his eyes and oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder. Kris thinks for a second about how lucky he is, waking up to this every morning.

“I like how you think,” Kris says. “Not that I’m afraid.”

“You never are,” Yixing agrees loyally, though the quirk of his lips betrays what he really thinks. Kris better kiss it away.

 

-

 

“Hmm.” Yixing tries the door one more time. The handle turns, but no matter he pulls, it’s not going anywhere. And that means neither are they. It’s getting dark and the asylum was already barely lit, small windows boarded up and everything coated with a thick layer of dust. Kris shifts his weight from foot to foot, aiming his flashlight at Yixing’s hands, still resting on the door handle. It’s not locked, it can’t be; the mechanism was broken years ago, probably by the same kids in the seventies who decided to explore the asylum and ended up with a bad case of homicidal madness. “Well, so much for doing a bit more research. I guess we’re doing the hands-on variety.”

“Great,” Kris grumbles. So far, the asylum hasn’t turned up much. EVP everywhere, but nothing but indiscernible whispers, voices layered over each other so densely they couldn’t sort it out. Years ago, before it was condemned, there had been a riot in these halls. Some of the hard case patients had risen up against the staff, and it’d gotten bloody, really bloody. From what Yixing had learned from a local historian, it seemed that it’d been so bad that some of the bodies had never even been found. And now they’re stuck in here, with some apparently nasty spirits. Fun.

Yixing squeezes Kris’ elbow. “Relax,” he says. “We haven’t even seen anything.” He smiles, shifting his shotgun up with his free hand. “And if we do, we’re prepared, remember?”

It’s a little bit unfair, how Yixing is so completely unflappable, even when they’re trapped in an abandoned asylum by some probably malevolent spirits. “Yeah,” he says. “Super prepared.” They turn, and the beam of Kris’ flashlight trembles a little before he steadies it. “How are you so calm?” he asks.

Yixing doesn’t hold Kris’ hand. He’s too experienced for that - a good hunter doesn’t let sentimentality tie up his hands when he could need them. Instead, he tips his head. “Because I’m with you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Kris is fairly certain that Yixing is just saying that to ease his nerves - he knows how unsettled hospitals make Kris, much less run down ones populated by unhappy ghosts - but it still works. 

Kris elbows Yixing gently and smiles. “Duh,” he says, and Yixing grins.

They get back to exploring once more. They’d covered the whole ground floor before they’d decided to turn back, and now they head downstairs into the basement. They could cover more ground if they split up, but neither of them are stupid enough to risk that. Kris doesn’t mind it, really, it’s not like he’d want to go on his own. They pass through a set of doors labelled ‘the South Wing’. Kris notes the chain and broken padlock lying on the ground. This was where they’d kept them, the worst of the patients, the violent psychotics. Kris had already been on edge but now his skin is almost crawling. There’s a lot of death in here.

It’s Yixing who catches it first, head whipping around as he stills, immediately. “Ah,” he says. “About time.”

“What - ?” Kris asks, but Yixing is already gone.

A grey figure collides with Yixing, sends him down against the dirty tile, hard. Kris can see the faint glow around its body - it’s a ghost for sure. It’s got Yixing pinned to the floor, knees on his belly, the wind knocked out of him. Kris tenses and shoves his flashlight into his belt, raising his shotgun and steadying it. He aims at the spirit, but then he hesitates. Something’s off. “Kris?” Yixing says, voice strained as he struggles to push the ghost away. His gun had gone flying when he’d hit the ground, out of reach. Kris needs to move, _now_ and yet - 

“His jacket,” Kris says suddenly. “Why is he wearing a doctor’s coat?” They’d been expecting the prisoners but not - “Yixing, it’s the head of staff! It’s the guy they couldn’t find. His body must be somewhere down here.”

“Great,” Yixing says, smile shaky. “Can we deal with this first?” He shoves futilely at the spirit’s chest, bucking his hips to shake it loose.

“Don’t be afraid,” the ghost croons, pressing its hands against Yixing’s skull and Yixing screams, an unearthly glow seeping out from where his eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m going to help you. I’m going to make it all better.”

Kris doesn’t hesitate. He raises his shotgun and fires. The load of rock salt dissolves the ghost instantly, smoke and ash scattering. It’s only a stop-gap measure, it’ll be back soon enough, but it’s given them a second’s break. “Yixing?”

Yixing sits up unsteadily, pressing a hand to his forehead. He looks pale, but otherwise unharmed. “I’m okay,” he says, reaching out a hand for Kris. Kris helps him up, brushes him off, pats him down and looks for injuries. Yixing’s got bruises starting on his throat, but he seems okay otherwise. “Kris. I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Kris says, stepping back reluctantly. Yixing’s smile is wan, but fond, the slightest hint of his dimple showing. “Let’s find this guy’s body, yeah?”

Both of them are on high alert now, tense and jumpy. Kris doesn’t let Yixing go more than a step or two away as they search, their arms jostling as they rifle through cupboards and open doors. They find it, finally, stuffed in the bottom of a cart, putrid and foul. “Got him,” Kris says triumphantly.

He spoke too soon. This time, it’s him who ends up on the floor, the ghost sitting on his chest. He raises his shotgun but it’s batted away, and the spirit uses his unearthly strength to force Kris’ head back against the tiled floor, hard. “Just hold on,” Yixing calls, and despite the ghost’s grip on his skull, he can see Yixing drop his backpack to the floor and rifle through it. He’s looking for the salt, Kris knows, and the lighter fluid. Atta boy.

“Don’t be afraid,” the ghost says, and then everything is bright light and pain. Kris is aware, dimly, that he must be yelling; his voice feels hoarse and his arms tense at his sides, nails digging into his palms. It’s agonizing - this is a cure? He feels like his skull is on fire, like this is all he knows and all he has ever known, and he doesn’t - he can’t - 

“Kris?” It’s gone so fast that he’s not even sure it’s real, and it takes him several long seconds before the spots in his eyes clear. Hands on either side of Kris’ face, Yixing peers down at him, worried. “Kris? Say something, please? He - it took me too long to get a light, I’m so sorry, baby. Say something!”

Kris’ throat feels ragged. “I hate ghosts,” he says miserably, and Yixing nearly sobs in relief. 

He presses his forehead to Kris’ and sighs. “Me too,” he agrees. He smooths a hand over Kris’ hair and then pulls away, helping Kris to his feet. “No more ghosts.”

Kris touches the back of his head, feeling out a bruise. “Nothing but wendigo,” he agrees.

Yixing gathers their things again, their shotguns and their salt. “And demons,” he adds. “Shapeshifters.”

“Reapers,” Kris says. “Tulpas.” He pauses, pulling the bag out of Yixing’s hands to throw over his shoulder. “God, I hate this job.”

Recklessly, Yixing winds his hand into Kris’. “Maybe,” he says. “But we do okay.”

“Yeah, we do.” The halls of the asylum feel truly empty now, the whispers gone and the thrum under Kris’ skin is gone. Job well done, one more time. “Remind me to punch Soryong in the face the next time he suggests a goddamn asylum job.” 

Yixing throws his head back and laughs, voice loud in the corridor. “Deal.”


	20. EXO, Tao/Chen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "taochen!! xmas theme! like mistletoe or something."

Damn, but Yixing always throws a good party. Well, it’s Jongdae’s place too, but Yixing made it all happen. Jongdae likes it best that way. It means he gets half the credit just for paying rent. 

It’s the end of the semester, and everybody’s here. Jongin is camped out in Chanyeol’s lap, while Chanyeol does his level best to lick Jongin’s tonsils. 9.0 for enthusiasm but only 4.7 for technique and 2.1 for doing this shit on Jongdae’s couch. “You need to work on your tongue technique,” Jongdae informs them, sitting down on the couch arm next to them. Chanyeol looks offended and Jongin whines, burying his face in Chanyeol’s throat. “I’m seeing a lotta spit happening here right now, pretty amateur stuff.”

“Dude,” Chanyeol says. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Jongin’s hand closes fitfully against Chanyeol’s chest. “Come on.”

Jongdae blinks at him innocently. “Oh, you didn’t? This isn’t a spectator sport?” He tilts his head. “I thought the way that you two were going at it on the couch meant you were open to constructive criticism.” He flashes them his best smile. “Style like that, Jongin must _really_ love you to put up with it.”

“You are kinda drooly…” Jongin says, his tongue clearly loosened by alcohol. Chanyeol looks mortified and Jongdae cackles, throwing his head back as the two of them get up and slip away, arguing quietly even while Jongin grips at the front of his shirt. Success! His couch remains safe from befouling by those cretins. That deserves a pat on his back and another drink.

He finds a couple of beers in the fridge, probably Sehun’s, but Jongdae decides to liberate them. He is one of the hosts, after all. People should pay their hosts. Across the room, he watches as Kris tries oh so hard to hit on Jessica Jung. There is nothing funnier than the way Kris turns pink and Jessica smiles vacantly, more interested in what’s happening on her phone. Delightful.

“Hyung.” Zitao pokes his head around the door, beaming. “There you are!”

“Here I am,” Jongdae agrees. He hadn’t been aware he’d gone somewhere. He raises his stolen beer to his mouth. He’d like to say that free beer tastes better, but Sehun’s a cheap bastard. This stuff tastes like piss. He wrinkles his nose. “What’s up?”

Zitao clasps his hands together “Merry Christmas, hyung,” he says. He’s wearing a Christmas sweater that’s just ugly enough that Jongdae is having trouble deciding if he did that on purpose. This is, after all, Huang Zitao. He likes his leopard print. Hard to tell. “I’m really happy.”

“You look pretty happy,” Jongdae says. Zitao does, actually. He’s flushed enough that Jongdae thinks he must have had a few, and he leans in, eyes fixed on Jongdae’s mouth. Jongdae’s known Zitao for a few years, long enough to hear his Korean go from laughably simple to totally fluent, or at least the degree of fluency Zitao needs to beg for Joonmyun to buy him food. They had Intro to Communication together two years ago, and when Jongdae had seen Zitao, alone by himself and frowning down at his homework, he’d decided to sit with him. He’d had an extra year at university to make his friends, find his people, but Zitao was working with a language barrier on top of everything else, and that couldn’t be easy. So Jongdae had bought him coffee, invited him to the parties he and Yixing threw. It turned out that when Zitao wasn’t unsure of himself, he wasn’t shy at all. He had ingratiated himself with Sehun lightning fast and gotten Kris wound around his finger in a matter of weeks. It was kind of impressive, and Jongdae was pleased. He thinks Zitao looks way better with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, instead of so lost and small.

“I have your present,” Zitao says, and there’s that smirk again. He’s definitely got something planned, and he’s definitely pleased with himself. It’s a good look on Zitao. To be fair, pretty much everything is a good look on Zitao, with his shoulders and his waist and his mile long legs. Normally, Jongdae harbours a lot of repressed resentment against tall dudes, but somehow he gives Zitao a pass. 

Jongdae narrows his eyes a little. Should he be worried? “I didn’t get you anything,” he admits. He waves his beer. “You can have some of this?”

Zitao shakes his head. “Look up,” he says. 

When Jongdae peers up, he realizes that he’s standing under mistletoe. “Huh,” he says.

Zitao blinks. “It’s mistletoe,” he says slowly, like maybe Jongdae is super drunk or just an idiot and missing the point. 

“Yes,” Jongdae agrees, just as slowly. “It is.” He shrugs. “Isn’t that stuff kind of lame?” He’s got no doubt that this was Lu Han’s idea - any excuse to mack on strangers.

“Oh,” Zitao says, face falling. He takes a step back. “Never mind.”

Never mind? Jongdae squints at Zitao and the realization dawns in his head. “Hey. Wait. Mistletoe. Was that...was that a hint?” He’s astonished. In the past three years, Jongdae has watched Zitao date plenty of guys and none of them even remotely bear any resemblance to him. Zitao likes tall guys with broad shoulders and nice, toned bodies, not guys like Jongdae. He unconsciously presses a hand against his belly and stares at Zitao. He’s never considered this.

“No,” Zitao says stubbornly, crossing his arms. “It wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was,” Jongdae says, dumbfounded. “Zitao?”

“You’re right,” Zitao says, and he avoids Jongdae’s eyes. “It’s lame. Never mind.”

Jongdae thinks about this. He can give Zitao a few minutes to squirm. It’s not like it’s really a bad idea, honestly. Zitao’s pretty hot, but he’s also sweet as a kitten, thoughtful when he feels like it and genuinely kind. This could work. “Does this mean I’m not getting my Christmas present?”

Zitao looks at him, guarded hope in his eyes. “I don’t know if you deserve it now,” he says after a long second, the corners of his mouth starting to pull up.

“Oh,” Jongdae says, setting down his beer and stepping forward. “I think I could change your mind.”

The way that Zitao settles his hands on Jongdae’s biceps is tentative, and he still looks wary. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly, and Jongdae knows that this is serious for him.

Jongdae doesn’t love Zitao, but he thinks maybe he could get there. Zitao is so many things, soft and sharp, a deft hand with nunchaku and in love with kittens. “Yeah,” Jongdae says, and then Zitao is smiling, swooping down to kiss him.

He likes the way that Zitao kisses, the way that he nips at Jongdae’s lip and then soothes it with his tongue, all eager, hot, and slick. Wow, yeah, Jongdae could definitely fall in love with this. “Now that’s a Christmas present,” Jongdae says, and Zitao laughs into his mouth, pulling him forward until Jongdae is caged in by Zitao’s body, hard and lean against him. Zitao’s palm skates up the back of Jongdae’s shirt across the small of his back and Jongdae stretches up to kiss him again. Jongdae’s pretty sure he’s number one on the naughty list but he’s definitely glad that Santa showed him a little mercy in the form of Zitao’s mouth. He’s going to make the most of this holiday, yessir.


	21. EXO/B.A.P, Suho/Himchan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "girl!Suho/Himchan? Hehehe! Joonmyun goes on a blind date and is really fussy and is so worried that Jongdae, her girl friend, shakes her to stop being hysterical and then when Joonmyun goes she finds that Himchan is actually someone she knows from a long time ago."

“This is such a bad idea,” Joonmyun grumps, fixing her hair for the seven hundredth time. A blind date. Who even _does_ those anymore? It all feels pretty silly.

“No,” Jongdae corrects her. She steps up behind Joonmyun, tugging her dress down and straightening the neckline. “No, it’s an amazing idea. It’s been ages since you put yourself out there. It’s time to meet a man.”

Joonmyun frowns, batting Jongdae’s hands away. “Thanks,” she says sharply. It’s not that Jongdae doesn’t have a point, really. Joonmyun has had her head in her career for so long that she hasn’t dated in, well, forever. Or ever, if she’s honest. She’d casually seen a few guys in college, but that was pretty much it. She’d been a girl on a mission. And now she’s finding herself a bit lonely, and she had finally given in to one of Jongdae’s dumb schemes. In retrospect, not her best moment.

“You know what I mean,” Jongdae says. “You need to spend a little less time at work, a little more time on you! You deserve it, you know.” She shakes her head. “I promise you, there is someone out there who is super into really lame girls who can’t dance and like incredibly hideous sweaters.” She looks pointedly at Joonmyun’s bed, where one such sweater lies abandoned on Jongdae’s insistence. “Just save those for the second date.”

The dress that Jongdae has picked out is slinkier than Joonmyun really tends to wear, but she does have to admit that her butt looks pretty great in it. “This is absurd,” Joonmyun sighs. She pushes at her hair again, pacing back and forth in front of the mirror. “I don’t even know this guy. _You_ don’t even know this guy!”

“But Baekhyun does,” Jongdae counters. “They work together. Baekhyun says that he’s very polite and incredibly hard-working.” She grins. “And of course, he’s very handsome. You know that helps.”

Joonmyun flaps her hands. “I think that makes it worse,” she admits. It’s been ages since she went on any date. How can she do this? It’ll be so awkward and uncomfortable and - “Maybe we should just call it off.”

“Joonmyun.” She gasps when Jongdae grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her briskly. “You are a hot piece of ass and he is a hot piece of ass and it’s less than an hour until dinner and you _will_ go.” 

Strangely enough, though her neck hurts a little, Joonmyun feels a lot less rattled after that. “I guess it would be impolite to leave him there,” she admits. 

Jongdae pushes a strand of Joonmyun’s hair out of her face and beams, pleased. “That’s my girl,” she says. “Now. Are you ready to go?”

Not even remotely. Joonmyun is shaking a little, uncomfortable in her heels and tugging at the hem of her dress. “Sure,” she says, with a false bravado that’s not fooling anyone at all. “I’m all set.”

Jongdae steers her towards the door and pushes her out with a resounding slap on the ass. “Have a good night!” she trills, and then she’s slamming the door behind Joonmyun.

Well, nowhere to go but forward. Joonmyun shifts her purse up on her shoulder and lifts her chin. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Right?

 

-

 

He’s late. Joonmyun sits at the table and clutches at her napkin. It’s cloth, and that feels so fancy when she’s alone, sipping water and wondering, a bit miserably, if she’s going to be stood up. She _knew_ it was a bad idea, she never should’ve come if she was only going to be humiliated by some stranger. Maybe he’d seen her sitting here and decided he wasn’t to her taste. Maybe he was someone she’d known. Oh God, what if it was Yifan? If Jongdae tries to set them up _one more time_ \- 

“Kim Joonmyun-ssi?” Joonmyun snaps out of her thoughts, turning as her date arrives. “Sorry I’m so late, work ran long but I couldn’t very well show up in a suit I’ve been sitting around in all day so I -” The man stops dead. “Joonmyun? Wow, this is not what I was expecting.”

“Kim Himchan?” Joonmyun’s jaw drops. She hasn’t seen Himchan in years, since they were counselors together at an arts summer camp. Three years in a row, they’d spent the summer together, Joonmyun looking after the drama kids and Himchan watching the classical musicians, and for three long years, Joonmyun had nursed a vicious crush on him. It’s funny, he looks just the same. His nose, still long and straight, his teeth just a little too rabbity to be truly handsome. This is _terrible_. “ _You’re_ my date?” Under the table, she grips her knees.

Himchan shrugs and laughs. “I guess so?” he says. He pulls out his chair, unbuttons his jacket with a practiced motion, and sits down. He’s handsome, still, and the suit he wears is expensive and tailored to his body. It makes a nice contrast to the Himchan she remembers, one who wore oversized shorts and horrible sweatshirts that even _she_ thought were tacky. “What a small world. You know Baekhyun?”

Joonmyun smiles faintly. “Who doesn’t?” she asks. This feels a bit surreal, like an idle daydream come to life. She hasn’t even thought about Himchan in years, and yet here is her teenage crush, grown up and handsome, obviously successful. What exactly is he doing _here_. “So, ah, how have you been?” She cringes - such an empty question. “What do you do now?”

“I’m a banker,” he replies. She watches the ease with which he raises a hand to flag down a waiter, ordering them wine. He’s been here before. “It’s nothing glamourous, but it certainly pays well.” A banker. Joonmyun remembers Himchan and the single-minded determination with which he had pursued his music. They’d talked, once or twice, about their parents, and how their expectations were far different from what either of them actually wanted out of their lives. And yet here they are. Himchan is a banker and Joonmyun works in advertising. This is certainly not the way sixteen year old Joonmyun had expected their lives to turn out.

It should be much weirder than it is, but as Himchan relaxes into his seat, folding his napkin in his lap, Joonmyun feels some of the tension unwinding under her skin. It’s been so long, but that familiarity helps. She’d been so afraid of meeting some stranger, some man who would expect some chic, collected woman only to be disappointed by the Joonmyun he meets. It’s easier with Himchan. Even if they haven’t spoken in years, Himchan has already seen her with braces and bad skin, the same way she knew him back when he was self-conscious about his weight and had terrible, terrible hair. They’ve already seen each other at some pretty low points. There’s less to lose.

“How about you?” Himchan asks. He’s got his hair pushed up out of his face, and he looks so good. She watches him tug at his cuffs, loosen his tie just a little bit, and she realizes that he’s faking it. He’s nervous too. “I think Baekhyun said advertising?” The waiter arrives to pour their wine and Himchan suddenly shifts upright. “I can’t believe I didn’t - you look great, by the way.” He can’t be genuine, she’s not even standing, but he gestures appreciatively at her dress and raises his eyebrows. “You grew up well.”

She flushes. “You don’t have to flatter me,” she says. “I’m already here.”

He tips his head. “Just stating a fact,” he says. “I mean, it’s weird, seeing you again, like this. It’s like you upgraded. I keep expecting to see a mouthful of braces.” He seems to realize what he’s said a moment after the fact, a flush gathering on his high cheeks as he raises his wine to his mouth. 

“Himchan!” Joonmyun laughs, astonished. “I was going to ask why you were on a blind date but it seems that you _still_ have no game. It’s a shame.”

“I’m sorry, I’m very nervous,” he admits. “I haven’t been on a date in forever, and then I show up and it’s you?” He chuckles, dabbing at his throat with his napkin. “Now I’m even more anxious.”

Joonmyun blinks at him. “I’m sorry?”

“I had the biggest crush on you, back at camp.” Joonmyun presses her fingers against her lips, her heart thudding in her chest. “It was terrible! Three years and I didn’t say anything. Yongguk gave me _so_ much shit for it.”

The laugh that bubbles out of Joonmyun is louder than she would’ve liked. “Me too!” she says. “I used to write your name in hearts in my diary.” Himchan’s eyes get big and she claps a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry, that was weird, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no!” Himchan shakes his head, eyes creasing with his smile. “Teenage me would’ve been over the moon to hear that.”

She pauses to take a sip of her wine and, wow, Himchan has good taste. “Maybe,” she says slowly, “maybe this is a good thing.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “A second chance?” It’s something she’d never dreamed of getting - a second chance with the guy she’d been head over heels for once upon a time. Why not take it?

Himchan grins, too much teeth, and Joonmyun’s stomach does a flip. “I can’t believe you’re saying that when you know how I used to look,” he tells her.

“Right back at you!” she retorts. “You can’t have already forgotten my braces.”

“No,” he says. “But - I might.” Their waiter returns, standing pointedly by their table, hands behind his back, waiting patiently. “Should we order?”

It’s funny, but the adrenaline that had been racing through Joonmyun’s veins is gone, replaced by something else, something bubbly and hopeful. “Sounds good to me,” she says. Under the table, Himchan bumps his ankle against Joonmyun’s, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and she laughs into her hand. This is so not how she imagined her night turning out. It’s so, so much better.


	22. EXO, Xiumin/Suho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Xiuho - At a train station/Airport. Sweaters."

Joonmyun is so late. He rushes to pay the cabdriver, scattering change all over the place and eventually just giving up and throwing himself out of the car. If he’s lucky, he’ll have ten minutes to reach his train. It’s the last of the night and he _needs_ to make it. His family doesn’t really celebrate Christmas, but his mother has made a tradition of these end-of-year dinners, and he hasn’t been able to see them in months. She nags him about working too much, and he always waves off her concerns, but this time, he thinks maybe she might have a point. After all, he was the one who’d worked late tonight, losing track of time while buried in paperwork. And now he’s paying the price.

He hoists his bag and jogs through the train station, shoes skidding on tiled floor wet with melted snow. Over the intercom, he hears a woman announce the last call for his train. Joonmyun swallows down the rush of dread and picks up his pace. He reaches the door just as the woman is turning to close the door. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, and though she looks a little exasperated, she waves him on. He thanks her profusely, bows, and then climbs onto the train.

It’s surprisingly crowded, this time of night, though Joonmyun shouldn’t really be surprised. It is Christmas Eve, after all. He finds a seat next to a young man who is neatly dressed in a Christmas sweater. He has beautiful eyes and a sweet mouth, and okay, maybe that’s part of why Joonmyun chooses to sit next to him. He settles in, and it’s only a matter of minutes before the train is moving. Finally, Joonmyun can relax. He can enjoy his ride and think about the end, about returning to Seoul and his mother’s cooking. 

Or he would, if the guy he was sitting next to would stop staring. “Hi,” the man says. “I’m Minseok.”

“Kim Joonmyun,” he replies, and then he sticks out his hand, mostly out of habit. Minseok laughs a little but he takes it, shaking firmly. “Nice to meet you?”

“You don’t need to sound so uncertain.” Minseok has a book tucked in his lap, a novel, but his bookmark says he’s barely started it. Joonmyun is a little bit pleased that this stranger has found him more interesting. “Where are you headed, if I may ask? Home for the holidays?”

Joonmyun has taken a lot of train rides in his life, but he’s never really had a lot of people just strike up a conversation. Especially people this cute. He watches the way that Minseok licks over his lips, the uncertain way his smile pulls tight, and he wonders if maybe he’s lonely. “Yeah,” Joonmyun replies. “My family does dinner every year.” He doesn’t miss the way that Minseok’s smile slips a little bit. “I’m glad I caught this train, otherwise I’d be missing it.”

“Ah, lucky,” Minseok says. 

Joonmyun waits, but Minseok doesn’t add anything. “What are your plans?” Joonmyun asks.

Minseok tips his head. His sweater is too big, and when he shrugs his shoulders, it’s like he’s trying to hide in the bulk of it. “I’m on my own,” Minseok admits. He shrugs again, clearly trying to play it off, but even Joonmyun can tell that it’s upsetting. “My family is in the United States this year, and I couldn’t afford to fly home.”

“Oh no,” Joonmyun says, genuinely sad. Nobody should have to be alone on Christmas. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ah, no,” Minseok waves a hand. “I didn’t mean to say that, sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just - I don’t usually do this.” He laughs a little, loudly enough that he attracts the disapproving gaze of an elderly businessman across the aisle. “I’ve never spent Christmas on my own, not even when I was at school. It’s strange.”

Now it makes sense. Joonmyun has always had his family to return home to. He’s always had a good relationship with his parents, his older brother - hell, the one time he’d run away from home, he’d asked his mother for permission first. He can’t imagine being in Minseok’s position. Missing Christmas is unthinkable. “I bet,” Joonmyun agrees softly. “That must be pretty hard.”

“Sorry,” Minseok says again. “It’s just - I guess you looked pretty nice.” He laughs. “And I’m a little bit drunk. It was my last chance to see my friends before the holidays.”

Minseok is cute. Joonmyun likes the sharp lines of his eyes and the softness of his cheeks, his small hands and his big sweater. That’s why Joonmyun turns to him with an easy smile and asks, “How long are you in Seoul?”

It’s a bit reckless. It’s the kind of thing that Joonmyun definitely Does Not Do, and yet, here he is. “Really?” Minseok asks warily. “I mean, don’t you have family stuff?”

Joonmyun shrugs. He does, but he’s sure that his mother won’t mind if he goes out for a few hours one day. “I can make time,” he says. He hesitates, and then he ducks his head. “Especially for someone as cute as you.”

“Wow,” Minseok says, and Joonmyun balks. Maybe he’s misjudged, maybe this is the last thing Minseok wants right now, maybe he should find another seat for the rest of the ride. “That helps,” Minseok adds. The corners of his lips curl up, and relief seeps into Joonmyun once more. “Do you always go around making dates with strangers?” Minseok asks.

“No!” Joonmyun protests, laughing. No, he doesn’t make dates with strangers, but Joonmyun has always had such a soft spot for strays. “Just the cute ones.”

Minseok’s smile now is genuine and wide, showing a mouth of small, white teeth. “Wow, thanks,” he says.

They exchange numbers before they get off the train, and the winter night is cold and bitter. “I’ll be counting on you,” Minseok says, an undercurrent of something needy beneath his words. 

He doesn’t have to worry. “I won’t let you down,” Joonmyun says firmly, and he squeezes Minseok’s hand for a second. Then he hears his brother shouting his name. He turns to wave to him, then looks back at Minseok. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Minseok nods, and then he waves him off. “I won’t keep you,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

He jogs off towards a cab, and then Joonmyun turns to find his brother. “What’s got you smiling like that?” his brother asks, and then he shakes his head, slinging an arm over Joonmyun’s shoulders. “C’mon, better get home. Wait til you hear about the spread Mom has planned for tomorrow.” Joonmyun lets his brother steer him to his car, a hand pressed self-consciously to his lips. He’s so glad he didn’t miss that train.


	23. EXO/B.A.P, Suho/Himchan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "can I req himchan/suho, a gangnam christmas??"

What do you get someone who’s got everything? That’s the dilemma that Himchan has been struggling with for months. 

Maybe he’s overthinking it. After all, what he has with Joonmyun, it’s not precisely what he’d call a relationship. Mostly because the two of them have never actually discussed it. They go on dates regularly, Himchan attends dinners with Joonmyun on his arm, and if he’s honest, Himchan hasn’t slept with anyone else in months. Not that he’s ever told Joonmyun that. Still, he wants to get him something good. 

The problem is, they’re both filthy rich, and the last gift Joonmyun got was a _car_. It’s hard to top a piece of machinery like that. And does he really want to?

He still feels a bit uneasy when he shows up at Joonmyun’s place on Christmas Eve, gift in hand. As much as he pretends otherwise, Himchan is really that confident. And honestly, he _likes_ Joonmyun. He’s sure that Joonmyun would laugh if he found out, though, so he keeps it to himself.

“There you are,” Joonmyun says when he opens the door, smile wide. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He ushers Himchan in and doesn’t hesitate to help him out of his jacket. It’s a chivalrous gesture on the surface, but Joonmyun sweeps one hand down Himchan’s back to straighten his shirt and his hand lingers on Himchan’s ass. Himchan raises an eyebrow but Joonmyun doesn’t look at him, lips quirked up as he hangs up Himchan’s jacket. Tease.

“I wasn’t late,” Himchan points out. He follows Joonmyun into his living room, and as always, he’s struck by how nice it is. Joonmyun’s got a good eye for design, and this isn’t something out of a catalogue. No one picked it out for him. It’s all Joonmyun, from the carefully framed pictures of his friends to the comfortable couch and soft rugs. 

Joonmyun shrugs. He reaches for a bottle of wine and wiggles it at Himchan. “It’s been a while,” he says, and Himchan has to turn his head so that Joonmyun won’t see the way that his heart jumps a little. He’s in over his head. 

They settle on the couch, wine glasses in hand and Joonmyun’s feet in Himchan’s lap. “I wish you could come with me to Christmas dinner tomorrow,” Joonmyun laments, digging his toes into Himchan’s thighs. “Save me from my parents.”

Himchan knows the feeling. He loves his parents dearly, but family dinners are always a stilted affair at his home. Nothing like watching his sister and mother get progressively passive aggressive at each other about grandchildren and past offenses. Himchan needs a great deal of wine to get through those nights. “I could,” he says. “I’m very charming, mothers love me. Maybe a little too much. Your mother’s a very attractive - hey!” Joonmyun grins and settles his foot back in Himchan’s lap and Himchan rubs his sore belly. Joonmyun’s never been that coordinated but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a surprising amount of strength.

“Stop,” Joonmyun laughs. “Please don’t insinuate that I will have to share you with my mother.”

It’s an opening, but Himchan doesn’t quite know how to take it, so he lets it pass. It’s easier to joke, to keep it light. That’s one skill that Himchan has honed over the years. It’ll be harder to joke around, of course, once he’s given Joonmyun his gift, but it’s fine. He’ll deal with that when he gets there. “I’m sure if you ask nicely, she’ll let you have me on the weekends,” Himchan suggests, and he savours the disgust on Joonmyun’s face.

“Enough!” Joonmyun says, bending forward to cover Himchan’s mouth with his hand. “Stop. No more. I can’t take it. _Please_.” Himchan quiets, but mostly because that hand on his mouth turns to a thumb on his lips, and then Joonmyun is bending nearly in half to kiss him. He’s always known the best way to shut Himchan up, and Himchan doesn’t even mind if it’s a tactic, because Joonmyun’s mouth is warm and familiar and this is the memory he’s going to use to carry himself through his tumultuous family dinner. He leans forward obligingly, one hand settled on the back of Joonmyun’s neck to keep him close. It’s going to take a lot to get him through Christmas dinner.

“Mmm, wait,” Joonmyun says after a few minutes, pulling away. His cardigan is a little bit rumpled now, his cheeks flushed, and Himchan is quite pleased by this effect. “I got you something for Christmas.” Himchan’s stomach lurches a little bit when he hears that and he can’t help the tiny jolt of relief. At least he’s not the only one on that page. “Hold on.”

When Joonmyun returns from his room, he’s only got a slim envelope in his hand. Ah, Himchan thinks. A card. Joonmyun always has been a stickler for the niceties. “It’s just a little - ” Joonmyun hesitates, sitting a hair too far away from Himchan. “I mean - just open it.” He thrusts the envelope into Himchan’s hands.

Himchan looks at him sidelong for a second, brows furrowed, but then he turns the envelope over in his hands, sliding a finger under the flap. “I got you something too,” he admits, and Joonmyun offers him a quick smile. The card is as nice as Himchan had known it would be, thick, heavy paper, beautifully done, some seasonal sentiment about wishing him the best holiday ever. It’s what’s inside that’s surprising. “Tickets…?”

Joonmyun clears his throat. “You keep saying you want to show me Tokyo,” he says, and Himchan blinks at him. He has said that, maybe once or twice, but he didn’t expect Joonmyun to remember it. Or do something to make it happen. Himchan looks over at him, and he’s not expecting the way ,Joonmyun stares fixedly on his hands in his lap. “It’s a bit much, I know, but I thought it’d be nice.”

“It’s wonderful,” Himchan assures Joonmyun, and he can feel the way that Joonmyun’s shoulders relax under his hand when he pulls him in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It _is_ wonderful. The plane tickets are for mid-February, far enough away for Himchan to make preparations for a leave of absence. A whole week with Joonmyun. He hadn’t even been certain that Joonmyun would want that kind of thing.

In return, he tugs a little box out of his pocket. Joonmyun’s eyes go wide as he turns it over in his hands. He opens it to find a slim silver bracelet. Joonmyun doesn’t wear a lot of jewelry, so Himchan had hesitated over the gift for a very long time, but in the end, he’d gone with it. It was simple, a short length of chain (he’d gotten it sized for Joonmyun’s small wrists), but the inside of two links bear his name, and Joonmyun’s. “Oh, wow,” Joonmyun says. 

It’s too much, Himchan knows it, watching the way that Joonmyun toys with it. He should’ve gotten something simpler. “I know you’re not really into shiny things, it was just kind of a whim -”

He watches Joonmyun rub a thumb over the link with his own name on it. “I like it,” Joonmyun says. He fastens it on his wrist and Himchan is relieved that if nothing else, it fits well. Joonmyun looks down at the silver around his wrist thoughtfully, and he takes his time meeting Himchan’s gaze. “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asks gently.

Himchan is a master bluffer. “Of course not,” he scoffs, pointedly not looking at the way that Joonmyun taps a fingertip against the link that Himchan knows bears the characters of his name. “I just thought you might like to learn a little style, wear something flashy with those awful old man cardigans of yours.”

“It’s only been you,” Joonmyun says, his tone deceptively casual. “It’s only been you, since the first time.” He tips his head, looking at Himchan out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oh,” Himchan says. He swallows, his chest tight.

“And I think,” Joonmyun says, his smile widening. “I think I might be the only one for you, too.” Himchan isn’t sure how to answer that, but Joonmyun doesn’t seem to need one. He laughs softly instead. “Maybe we should have a bit of a chat right now.”

“Should we?” Himchan asks, and Joonmyun rolls his eyes, hooking his fingers in Himchan’s collar and pulling him forward. Himchan has dated his share of people, but never really seriously, and this is a new feeling for him. He’s never felt so jittery and happy and weird in his life.

Joonmyun toys with his bracelet, his other hand still warm against Himchan’s throat. “You could come to dinner,” Joonmyun says lightly. “I could introduce you as my boyfriend.”

It’s got a nice ring to it. Himchan clicks his tongue. “What are we, high schoolers? How about ‘partner’?”

“Now you sound like a cowboy,” Joonmyun laughs, and he tips an imaginary hat. “Howdy, partner.”

Himchan raises an eyebrow and he grins. “ _Oppa_ ,” he croons, and Joonmyun turns the most delightful shade of pink. Oh, Himchan is going to remember that one.

“Shut _up_ ,” Joonmyun says, and when he pulls him in again for a kiss, Himchan is more than willing to oblige.


	24. EXO, Kai/Chanyeol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "kaiyeol. something with sailing and cold water and flannel and bundling up with one another and fucking by the fire and forests and foggy mornings."

It’s weird, being so far away from civilization, but Jongin thinks it’s pretty nice. When Chanyeol had suggested that they go away for their holidays, Jongin had thought of somewhere warm maybe, somewhere he could lay on the beach and read or go swimming or whatever. He hadn’t really considered this.

The cottage they’ve rented is absolutely beautiful, and it’s nearly an hour away from the nearest convenience store. He thinks there might be a couple of neighbours somewhere around here, but nowhere within shouting distance. The house itself is modestly sized, a couple of bedrooms and an enormous fireplace, but Jongin’s favourite part is the view by the river. With the fine layer of snow and the trees, it’s absolutely beautiful.

Long arms wind around Jongin’s waist as Chanyeol hooks his chin on his shoulder. “Good morning,” Chanyeol says. His low voice is rough with sleep and his hands look so big pressed against Jongin’s belly. “Sleep well?” It doesn’t surprise Jongin anymore, when Chanyeol drapes himself over his shoulders, bony and warm and present. His affection can be kind of overwhelming, but in a good way. Jongin is always the centre of his attention, and he likes it. He likes it a lot.

“It’s so quiet out here,” Jongin says. It’d taken a few nights to get used to it, to the lack of traffic and the way that the snow dampened all the sounds, but he’s never slept so well in his life. “Let’s stay forever. Never leave.”

Chanyeol pushes his face into the space between Jongin’s neck and shoulder and he laughs. “Okay,” he says. “We can quit our jobs, go off the grid. You can teach the squirrels to dance and I’ll make money chopping wood.”

Jongin likes his job, but there’s something so tempting about the idea of just picking up and leaving. Moving somewhere like this, somewhere it’s just them and the quiet and his books and Chanyeol’s laughter. “Squirrels?” he scoffs, trying to gently untangle himself from Chanyeol’s grip. It doesn’t work very well. Chanyeol just pulls him closer. “Don’t be stupid. It’d be the rabbits, duh.”

“Rabbits,” Chanyeol mumbles against Jongin’s throat, his hand starting to slowly, inexorably creep up under the hem of Jongin’s shirt. “I like rabbits.”

Jongin needs to cut this off now, before they waste another whole day here tangled up in bed. “I like _you_ ,” he says, and he can feel the curve of Chanyeol’s mouth against his skin. “But weren’t we supposed to go out in the boat this morning?” He pulls at Chanyeol’s wrists although he’s kind of loathe to make him let go - his hands feel so nice pressed against him. 

“It can wait?” Chanyeol tries, but he lets Jongin pry him away. He’s not making any of this easy. He pushes his bottom lip out, and that’s _totally_ playing dirty. He knows how much Jongin likes his mouth, and it’s even more tempting with the way that his too long hair is mussed from sleep. “The river will still be there in a few hours, you know.”

He’s already pulling at Jongin’s shirt again, tugging him close and pressing his lips against the hinge of Jongin’s jaw. It’s been over a year and Chanyeol still makes Jongin flush, makes him giddy with the attention. “You promised,” Jongin reminds him, because he had. Wasn’t that the whole point of this trip? The great outdoors? “You said you’d teach me.”

Chanyeol huffs, kissing Jongin one last time before peeling himself away. “Did I do that?” he asks.

“Uh huh.” Jongin plants his hands on Chanyeol’s shoulders and turns him around, steering him towards the kitchen. “Breakfast first, though. Joonmyun hyung would be so disappointed in us if we forgot the most important meal of the day.”

“Alright, alright,” Chanyeol sighs. 

He looks just put out enough that Jongin stretches up on his toes to press his lips against the back of Chanyeol’s neck quickly. He likes the way it makes Chanyeol melt a little, pliant under Jongin’s hands. “Thank you,” Jongin says, and Chanyeol flashes him a bright smile. 

 

-

 

It takes them nearly an hour to make breakfast and eat, because Chanyeol keeps getting distracted and Jongin finds it hard to eat when Chanyeol is stretching his long legs into Jongin’s lap and wiggling his feet around. Finally, though, they do, and then it’s time to bundle up and head out. Jongin’s never been a big fan of layers, he’s always pretty warm in general, but Chanyeol insists. 

That’s why he’s standing here now, letting Chanyeol tug a big hat over his head and wind a thick scarf around his neck. “You’ll thank me later,” Chanyeol says. Jongin’s already sweating, so he’s not really sure that’s true, but it’s okay. Chanyeol looks cute with his brow furrowed in concentration, tucking the ends of Jongin’s scarf in so that it won’t unwind on its own. 

“Can we go now?” Jongin whines, watching as Chanyeol tugs on his boots, fumbling with the laces. “Please? It’s going to be dark by the time we get in the water, I swear.” He feels overheated in all these layers, and though he knows it’s cold out, it’s pretty damn warm in here. Chanyeol needs to pick up the pace.

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Chanyeol laughs, and he opens the door for Jongin with a big, sweeping flourish. “After you,” he intones.

The mid-morning sun is bright and warm, providing a nice counterpoint to the bite of the winter wind. Chanyeol leads the way down to the dock, crunching enthusiastically through the thin layer of snow and chattering about how he used to do this with his sister when he was a kid. He’s got a tight grip on Jongin’s hand, and even through the double layer of mittens (Chanyeol’s are bright red, Jongin’s are black) Jongin can feel the heat of his fingers. 

Chanyeol directs Jongin to get in first, and he approaches it carefully, thankful for his excellent sense of balance. He’s a little more concerned with Chanyeol, though, especially when he unties the boat and practically leaps into it. “Chanyeol!” Jongin yelps, but Chanyeol wobbles gracelessly and miraculously recovers, beaming that smile at him. “You better not fall in,” Jongin warns, shoving a life jacket at Chanyeol. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if Chanyeol had toppled into the water. He’s not a particularly strong swimmer and the water has to be so cold right now.

Still smiling, Chanyeol buckles on his life jacket. “I won’t,” he promises. “I’m a professional at this. Don’t you trust me?”

Marginally. “Sure,” Jongin says. The cold is creeping down his collar and he pushes his hands between his thighs. Maybe Chanyeol had something with this bundling up nonsense.

Chanyeol raises his eyebrows and holds out a paddle. “Time for lessons!” he says. Oh boy. Jongin takes the paddle gingerly and Chanyeol smiles encouragingly. Jongin loves his boyfriend, he really, truly does, but for a fleeting moment, he wonders if this is all going to end in a very cold, watery death. “Here we go!”

Jongin shakes his head and takes a deep breath. They’re not that far from shore, anyway.

 

-

 

Of course, they survive, and barely anyone gets splashed in the process. They spend a couple of hours paddling aimlessly around in circles until Jongin gets the rhythm right. In his defense, Chanyeol’s instructions are hard to understand when they’re spinning around and Chanyeol is laughing too hard to speak. This is why Jongin is the one who teaches, usually. 

Chanyeol grabs Jongin’s face with his damp mittens once they’re back on shore, the boat safely tied up once more. “You did really good,” he says, and Jongin colours a little under the praise because Chanyeol is just so earnest. “The first time I went out with my sister, I overturned the boat like three times.” 

Considering Chanyeol’s long, ungainly frame and his complete lack of grace, he’s lucky that number was so low. “Thanks,” Jongin mutters, but then Chanyeol bumps their noses together and he can’t help but laugh. “I’m glad we didn’t die.”

Chanyeol claps a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded,” he says. “You didn’t think I would protect you?”

The sun is warm against Jongin’s cold face, and so is Chanyeol’s arm, hooked in his. “No,” he says serenely. “I thought we had about a fifty/fifty chance of survival.” And that’s being generous.

Chanyeol kicks at the snow as they walk back up to the cottage. “Bad boyfriend,” he accuses, pulling away from Jongin with a huff. He marches back to the cottage, just fast enough that Jongin has to run to catch up to him, tugging at his hood. “I don’t like you anymore.”

It’s lucky that he’s always been easy to appease, though. Jongin pushes him in through the door, tugging Chanyeol’s scarf down to catch his mouth in a kiss. As always, Chanyeol melts under the attention, knocking Jongin’s hat off so he can tangle a hand in his hair, pull him close. All that paddling and layering and getting laughed at is all worth it when Chanyeol’s lips are on his, desperate and slick and so nice. “Someone’s eager,” Jongin mumbles, even as Chanyeol is growling in frustration, tugging at his scarf and jacket. “You know, this is your own fault.”

“Less talk,” Chanyeol says sternly. Jongin could help him, but it’s funnier to watch Chanyeol fumble with the toggles on his jacket. “More naked.” It takes him forever, but he finally gets Jongin’s jacket off. It’s less funny, then, because Chanyeol is uncannily skilled at peeling Jongin’s clothes off. Jongin doesn’t mind, cause it’s more efficient. Chanyeol is so single-minded that it’s only a matter of minutes before they’re down to their boxers and sprawled out in front of the fireplace.

“It’s cold,” Jongin says. Chanyeol hums and slides his knee between Jongin’s thighs, mouthing his way down Jongin’s throat. He’s not that heavy, all long limbs and narrow waist, but he’s got enough muscle in his arms to hold Jongin down. Jongin likes the weight of him, his body pressing him down against the rug, but it’s starting to get dark and if they don’t get the fire going soon, they’re going to regret it. “ _Chanyeol_.”

He can feel Chanyeol’s cock against his thigh, halfway to hard as he does his best to suck a mark into Jongin’s chest. “I’ll get you hot,” he replies, and Jongin groans, shoving at his shoulders.

“Light the fire,” he says sternly, even as Chanyeol nips at his throat. It sends sparks down his spine, and although Jongin is loathe to let Chanyeol go (it really is cold now that they’re down to next to no clothing), one of them has to have common sense. “Then you can do whatever you’d like.”

Chanyeol pouts again, but then his expression gets wicked. “Anything?” he asks, and then he’s off like a flash, crouching in front of the fireplace to light it. Like this, he almost looks like he’s got an ass. Jongin tips his head. It’s a nice angle. 

“Almost anything,” Jongin amends. 

Chanyeol snorts, but he’s got the fire going now and he turns back to Jongin. “Good enough?” he asks. 

Jongin can hear the wind blowing outside, and the last light of the day slants through the window, throwing long shadows across the floor. It’s getting cold, but the fire is starting to crackle in the fireplace and the rug beneath him is nice and thick. “Perfect,” Jongin corrects him, and Chanyeol grins, launching himself forward and pinning Jongin to the floor. And he means it. This is perfect.


	25. EXO, Kris/Luhan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i can't remember the prompt anymore but this is lu han being happy with a bf on new year's eve!!!

“Lu Han!” The party is already in full swing, but Lu Han had expected that. He was the one who’d pulled the short end of the straw and had to work a closing shift on New Year’s Eve, after all. “There you are!” Yixing lets him drag off his jacket and all the layers he’s wearing before he pulls him into a hug, warm and lingering. It’s not as though they hadn’t seen each other a few days before, but Yixing has always made a point of _noticing_ him, of acknowledging him and recognizing him. It’s uncanny, how perceptive he can be, sometimes. “Now things can _really_ get started.” He squeezes Lu Han’s hand affectionately and then he slips off into the noise of the room.

What’s funnier is that this is Baekhyun’s idea of a ‘small get-together’, and the tiny apartment is packed with people. On the couch, Kyungsoo has a drink in his hand and a studiously bored look. Chanyeol grips his knee, eyes wide and other hand waving around as he explains something enthusiastically. Maybe the group he’s been working with in the studio, maybe his latest knitting project. It’s hard to tell when Chanyeol is so enthusiastic about everything and the only thing that rouses Kyungsoo’s interest is when Baekhyun is pissing him off.

Speaking of. “Took you long enough,” Baekhyun tells him. He shakes his head in disappointment even as he’s pushing a drink into Lu Han’s hand. “I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up.” He scoffs then, like the mere idea of Lu Han standing up someone like _him_ is completely unbelievable. He looks good tonight, which is probably the point. His pants are so tight Lu Han is surprised he can walk, but they also make his ass look absolutely spectacular, which is probably also the point. Baekhyun hates it if anyone outdoes him at his own parties.

Lu Han sniffs the drink in his hand. It looks disgusting. This must be another one of Jongdae’s concoctions. He’s sure it’ll get them all spectacularly drunk long before the ball even drops. “Baekhyun,” Lu Han says sweetly, patting Baekhyun’s cheek. It’s mostly to be condescending, but also because Lu Han’s hands are still cold, and the way that Baekhyun shrinks away from his touch is great. “If I was going to stand you up, I’d make sure you knew it.”

The curl of Baekhyun’s lips warms Lu Han’s heart. “You don’t deserve my hospitality,” Baekhyun says, snatching back the drink and slinking off to find someone else to talk to. Lu Han watches him go. Baekhyun beelines over to the couch, and makes a move to plant himself on Kyungsoo’s knee, but he swiftly changes his mind at the sight of Kyungsoo’s iciest glare. Lu Han snorts as Baekhyun adjusts his path and sits on Jongdae instead, grin unfaltering. Despite still nominally participating in his conversation with Chanyeol, Kyungsoo’s gaze is fixed on Baekhyun from the corner of his eye. If Lu Han didn’t know any better, he’d think that Baekhyun does it on purpose.

Lu Han makes his way to the kitchen, and he finds Zitao sitting on the counter, Yixing between his knees. “I need a drink,” he declares, and Yixing laughs.

“None of _that_ ,” he says, gesturing at the bowl of mysterious alcohol that Lu Han is still certain Jongdae provided. “I’m sure you want to be conscious by New Year.” Yixing rummages through the fridge and comes out with a couple of bottles of beer, hands one over to Lu Han with a wink. “You’ve got a reason for it, this year.”

Lu Han snorts, but he doesn’t reply. Yixing has a point, though. A year ago, Lu Han had rung the night in with just Yixing and Zitao, the three of them sitting on the floor of the apartment Lu Han shares with Zitao. It hadn’t been bad, really, but when Zitao had laughed and rubbed his nose against Yixing’s before kissing him at the stroke of midnight, Lu Han had realized how small his life was. He had his friends - Yixing, the first person who’d befriended him when he’d come to Korea, and Zitao too - but besides the last of his classes and his work, Lu Han still didn’t have a lot to do. The language barrier had a hand in it, but in the end, Lu Han could only blame himself. It wasn’t a great new year.

And then early in January, Lu Han had met Chanyeol. He’d been playing guitar outside the shop Lu Han works at, even in the cold, and when Lu Han had given him a coffee for free, Chanyeol had repaid him with an invite to a party. Chanyeol, it had turned out, had a lot of friends, and suddenly, Lu Han had found himself with a lot of new phone contacts and a standing pick up game of soccer with a guy named Minseok.

More importantly, that was the night Lu Han met Yifan.

Their introduction had happened when Jongdae had jostled his arm and Lu Han had ended up with Yifan’s drink on his shoes. For someone so tall, Yifan was entirely graceless. Unlike Chanyeol, a violent hand-talker, Yifan kept his elbows tucked in, his chin close to his chest, like he was trying to shrink away. He was handsome, dressed in something just ugly-fashionable enough to rival Zitao’s taste, and Lu Han’s heart did a bit of a two-step in his chest. “Uh, maybe I can get you coffee sometime?” Yifan had suggested, his big frame folded nearly in half as he dabbed at the mess on Lu Han’s shoes. He was turning a delightful shade of pink. “To make up for this.” Lu Han couldn’t help but agree.

It was too bad that Yifan wasn’t here now. He worked for his mother’s company and sometimes that meant long business trips at inopportune times, and Lu Han couldn’t deny the fact that he missed him when he was gone. This time, he’d been gone for nearly a week, off in Japan somewhere. He’s sure that it’s not much fun for Yifan, stuck in meetings while the rest of them enjoy the holiday, but that’s not a great deal of comfort. They’d agreed to call each other at midnight, at least (Yifan’s idea, but Lu Han had liked it. He always likes Yifan’s romantic little gestures). It’s not big, but this is a far cry from where he was last year. He’s surrounded by friends, and he’ll get to call Yifan when the ball drops. This is going to be a pretty good night.

“I don’t need much of a reason not to drink that swill,” Lu Han says, peering into the bowl. What _is_ in this, anyway? There’s something floating in there. It has to be illegal. He shakes his head and pops the top on his beer. 

Before he even gets a chance to take a sip, a strong shoulder collides with his back. “To good friends!” Minseok crows, his chin pressed to Lu Han’s shoulder and his own drink held out. 

Zitao’s laughter is loud even in the noise of the party. “To friends!” he echoes.

Lu Han lets Yixing ply him with drinks for the rest of the night. He’s got a look in his eye, like he knows something Lu Han doesn’t, but no matter how Lu Han pries, he insists it’s nothing. Yixing’s always been such a tease. Lu Han doesn’t let it distract him, though. He’d worked a long, grueling shift tonight, one of six in a row, and tonight, finally, he is going to enjoy his time. 

He’s comfortably drunk as it approaches midnight, and he keeps pulling out his phone to check the time. Yifan will be calling soon. He doesn’t want to miss it.

The doorbell rings, and Baekhyun and Yixing exchange a look. “Lu Han,” Baekhyun calls. He hasn’t moved from his perch on Jongdae’s knee, but Jongdae doesn’t look like he minds a whole lot. Lu Han thinks that has something to do with how his hands have mysteriously disappeared from sight and Baekhyun’s flush. “Can you grab that?”

Lu Han sighs and sets his drink down. “You’re not a very good host, you know,” he tells Baekhyun, and Baekhyun shrugs, leaning back until he’s resting against Jongdae’s chest. He looks really pleased with himself, enough so that Lu Han feels a bit suspicious. There’s about a fifty/fifty chance that Baekhyun is setting him up. Maybe it’ll be delivery, and Baekhyun’s planning on sticking him with the bill. Wouldn’t be the first time.

It’s not a delivery guy.

“Happy New Year,” Yifan says, and all Lu Han can do is laugh. Yifan is wearing a rumpled suit and he looks like he came straight from the airport, just for Lu Han, and that makes Lu Han’s breath come short. “Surprise?”

There’s a tightness in Lu Han’s chest, and he has to press his lips together to hold back the grin that’s threatening to break his face. Yifan’s job is important to him, so Lu Han has tried not to complain about his absences, but Yifan isn’t always the most unaware. He’d come back for Lu Han. It feels so big. “I love you,” he says. “I love you.”

Yifan’s grin is all gum and straight white teeth and it makes him look so goofy. “Yeah?” he says, and Lu Han snorts. He winds a hand in Yifan’s tie and pulls him down to kiss him. It hasn’t been that long, really, but Yifan’s hands fit so well against Lu Han’s waist and his lips are so plush and he doesn’t pull away again until Jongdae and Baekhyun are catcalling from the couch. 

“You missed the countdown,” Jongin calls. Lu Han can feel the press of Yifan’s hand against the small of his back and the weight of his smile and he’s pretty sure he didn’t miss anything.


End file.
